


The Penderwicks in Crisis

by alysontifton



Category: The Penderwicks Series - Jeanne Birdsall
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-06
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:56:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 39
Words: 152,328
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24578659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alysontifton/pseuds/alysontifton
Summary: In the midst of trying to patch up their damaged friendship, Skye Penderwick and Jeffrey Tifton are abducted from Arundel Hall.
Relationships: Jeffrey Tifton/Skye Penderwick, Rosalind Penderwick/Tommy Geiger
Comments: 9
Kudos: 18





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I first read these books as an innocent child, but now here I am, 19 and obsessed with Criminal Minds. This story will get dark.

Jeffrey Tifton sat at the piano, like he had been for the majority of the day. His fingers flew skillfully across the keys, his head bent in deep concentration. He had been spending a lot of time playing over the past couple of days, more than usual. It helped him clear his head.

A knock on his bedroom door broke him out of his musical reverie. His mother was standing in the doorway with her hands wrapped around a glass of wine.

"That was beautiful," said Mrs. Tifton. She stared fixedly at the carpet, purposefully avoiding Jeffrey's gaze. Music was one of the many things they struggled to talk about. He had inherited his musical talent from his father, and for that reason, hearing him play made Mrs. Tifton uncomfortable. His parents had separated before he was born. "What were you playing?"

"Beethoven." Jeffrey swiveled around the piano bench so that he was facing his mother. "Do you want something?"

"Can't I talk to my son without having a reason?"

Jeffrey raised his eyebrows. "You typically don't."

Mrs. Tifton sighed and sat down on the end of his bed. She sipped her wine. "I wanted to talk to you about your plans for next weekend." She had already given up on trying to appease him; her usual impatient and snappish demeanor had resurfaced. "You want to visit the Penderwicks, yes? Well, this time I'm saying no. You're staying here."

The Penderwicks were a family that had rented out the Tifton's cottage several years prior. During the three weeks they had stayed at Arundel Hall, the four sisters had befriended Jeffrey, and in the following seven years, that friendship had done nothing but grow stronger. Mrs. Tifton didn't bother hiding her disdain for them.

"But it's Batty's birthday, Mother," Jeffrey protested. "I promised her that I'd be there."

"It was just Skye's birthday, and I think I remember her kicking you out of the house," Mrs. Tifton reminded him smugly. Jeffrey was certain the whole situation pleased her greatly.

Eighteen year old Skye was the second oldest Penderwick sister, his best friend, and quite frankly, the love of his life. Unfortunately for him, she did not share the same sentiment, and when it came to talking about emotions, whether they were hers or someone else's, Skye was less than efficient. She had asked him to leave her alone until he could keep his feelings to himself. His mother wasn't aware of that particular detail, but it was still a sensitive subject. He preferred not to talk about it.

"You know how I feel about those girls," Mrs. Tifton was saying. "I hardly ever see you because you're away at school, and Dexter needs you to teach him about Mozart. He wants to impress his boss at the symphony this week."

Jeffrey scoffed, "Absolutely not, if he wants my help he can ask me himself." His mother had married Dexter Dupree when he was eleven, and Jeffrey had chosen to go to boarding school largely to avoid putting up with him.

"Be respectful," scolded Mrs. Tifton sharply.

"He's a pathetic creep and I don't respect him at all." Jeffrey was more than a little surprised he had said that out loud. He was too irritated; he didn't have the patience to discuss Dexter politely.

"Watch your tongue, young man!" Mrs. Tifton snapped, rising to her feet.

"No. It's the truth." Jeffrey stood up as well, heading for the door.

"Do not walk away from me, Jeffrey Tifton!" His mother yelled after him.

He didn't look back. He knew he was being rude, and he would be punished for it later, but he was sick of his mother acting like every minute spent in the presence of Dexter Dupree was a gift from God. She had seen all the signs saying otherwise, and she had chosen to ignore them. The truth was, Jeffrey wasn't sure that her pride could withstand the blow of a second divorce. Mrs. Tifton had always been focused on image.

Dexter was standing just outside Jeffrey's door, startling him as he turned the corner.

"What was that about?"

"None of your business," Jeffrey said, pushing past Dexter and walking down the hall.

Dexter grabbed his arm, stopping him at the top of the staircase. "I know you were talking about me, Jeffrey."

"Eavesdropping, huh? Aren't you kind of old for that?"

Dexter tightened his grip and his fingernails dug deeper into Jeffrey's skin. "I heard what you said."

"Then why are you asking me about it?" Jeffrey yanked his arm out of his grasp, annoyed.

Dexter glowered at him. "To give you the chance to say it to my face."

Jeffrey had pushed Dexter too far. He was more than angry; it was a frightening extent of fury Jeffrey had not seen before, as if something inside him had snapped. Dexter shoved him in the chest, sending him toppling backwards down the stairs. He landed hard on his back, and for a moment lay stunned on the landing, struggling to breathe.

Dexter was coming down the stairs after him, and Jeffrey scrambled to his feet, still sucking in sharp, painful breaths. He barely made it to the first floor before Dexter caught him by the shoulder and threw his back against the wall. He pressed his elbow deep into Jeffrey's throat, which cut off his airway and made each breath an arduous task.

"Talk to your mother about me like that again and you'll regret it," Dexter snarled, showering Jeffrey in spittle.

"Get – away – from me." The pressure against his vocal cords strained Jeffrey's voice. He knocked Dexter out of his way and started running down the hallway. His stepfather slammed his fist into the wall. Jeffrey willed him not to follow. Sure, he had always thought that Dexter was a creep, and a pompous ass, no doubt, but dangerous? Never. Now, he had to reevaluate his entire perspective. Jeffrey heard footsteps behind him and tried to ignore the fear tightening his chest; he was almost at the front door. His car was right outside. He would drive straight to his father in Boston.

"JEFFREY LOOK OUT!"

Jeffrey spun around just in time to sidestep the glass vase flying toward his head. It hit the wall and shattered, raining bits of glass and purple flowers down on the polished wooden floor.

"You're crazy!" Jeffrey wiped away the dirty water that had splattered on his face. He winced as his hand brushed across his mouth; he had bitten his lip during his tumble down the stairs. His fingers came away bloody.

The footsteps had been his mother's. Mrs. Tifton was standing behind Dexter with a hand over her mouth, her eyes wide with horror.

"Brenda! I – I was just—" Dexter tried desperately to come up with something that could justify his actions.

She shut him up with a smack to the face. Panic, shame, and fury all battled for control of her expression. She rushed past him and gathered Jeffrey in her arms. Her back was to Dexter; she shielded him from him. "Did he hurt you?"

Jeffrey shook his head, though his body ached. He shakily hugged his mother back. He glanced over her shoulder at Dexter, who sneered at him. Mrs. Tifton wasn't looking.

"I'm so sorry." Dexter reestablished his gentleman façade. He straightened his tie. "I don't know what came over me."

"You're sorry?" Mrs. Tifton almost laughed. She craned her head to glare at him, but she did not loosen her protective hold on Jeffrey. "I don't care if you're _sorry_. If there is a single mark on him, I'll be calling the police."

"He asked for it," Dexter spat, suddenly defensive. Perhaps the prospect of jail time didn't sit well with him. "I've told you that boy needs strict discipline. He needs to be taught respect."

"Taught respect? You think throwing things at him will teach him _respect?_ " Mrs. Tifton was yelling. "You pretentious—disgusting—" She spluttered furiously. She dropped Jeffrey to fling her arm toward the door. "Get out of my house."

"You can't be serious; I had a little too much to drink at dinner is all. I said I am sor—"

"GET OUT!"

"I'll just grab my stuff then," Dexter said haughtily.

"Leave it!" Mrs. Tifton snapped. "You'll be hearing from my attorney first thing in the morning."

Dexter stormed past her and paused briefly next to Jeffrey. He leaned in so that his face was mere centimeters from Jeffrey's ear and hissed, "I'm going to fucking kill you. That's a promise."

Dexter pushed him away from him. Jeffrey stumbled back a few steps, but the threat had little effect on him. Dexter straightened his suit jacket back neatly over his shoulders. Jeffrey flashed his middle finger at him as he stalked outside. Mrs. Tifton bolted the door the second that it shut.

"I'm getting the locks changed. Today," she promised. She turned back to Jeffrey and her eyes welled up. "He's gone, alright? Forever."

Jeffrey was still shaking when his mother pulled him back into a tight embrace. "Told you," he said, too stunned that had really just happened to speak above a faint whisper. "Pathetic creep."


	2. Chapter 2

ONE MONTH LATER

The front door banged open and a very disgruntled Jane Penderwick stalked into the house and flung her backpack to the floor. 

“Pick it up, Jane,” Skye ordered, without looking up from the book she was reading about the life and death of stars. Jane ignored her. 

“It’s official,” she announced. “I am never going to college. My fate has been decided. I am going to die starving on the streets.”

“That bad, huh?” Skye said. She was referring to the pre-calculus test that had been working Jane into a frenzy for days. 

“Worse.” 

“You can always retake it,” eleven year old Batty suggested. She was sitting on the floor playing a game of Battleship with their little brother, Ben. 

“That _was_ the retake.”

“If you get 110% on the final, you can bring your grade up to a C,” Skye pointed out, being not at all helpful. She snapped her book shut, giving up on having a peaceful afternoon to read. Her own finals were in a few days, and although they were a week earlier than Jane’s (seniors finished a week before the rest of the school), she was far more prepared, and therefore far less frazzled than her sister.

“Don't mock my pain,” said Jane. “We both know that’s impossible.”

“True, but if you start studying now, you could get sort of close,” Skye said. “You can't do that if your bag is in the middle of the floor though.” 

Jane glared at her older sister. She dragged her backpack over to the couch and took out a math book, all the while grumbling that high school was a soul sucking hellhole run by the devil himself. 

“G-4,” guessed Batty. She stretched out on the floor and propped herself up with her elbow. 

“MISS!” Ben declared proudly. 

“Liar.” Skye was peering over Ben’s shoulder. “If you’re going to play the game, play it right.” 

“But she _always_ beats me,” Ben complained. 

“Mom!” Batty called, just to spite him. “Ben’s a cheater.” 

“Alright, you two,” Iantha said, coming into the living room from the kitchen. “I think it’s time to put the game away. Did you finish your homework?” 

Iantha had married Mr. Penderwick when Batty was only four years old, after a clever scheme thought up by Skye, Jane, and the eldest Penderwick sister, Rosalind, had resulted in their first date. She had been a wonderful addition to the family, and with her came Ben, who had been only a baby at the time. 

While Batty and Ben packed up the game and put it back in the closet, Iantha sat down in the only vacant seat left in the room. Jane and her schoolwork were taking up the entire couch, Skye was sitting in one chair, and a pile of Batty’s music books filled another. She had a piano lesson that night. 

“I’m glad you’re all here,” Iantha said. “Jeffrey called this morning.” 

Skye, without thinking, let out an exasperated sigh and slapped a hand to her forehead. 

“You can relax,” Iantha told her. “You aren’t the only thing he wants to talk about.” 

“Close though,” Jane said with a slight smirk. 

Iantha shot a disapproving glance in her direction. “He actually was inviting one of you to visit him this weekend at Arundel. He’s happy seeing anyone you, you guys can decide who goes.” 

“Does Mrs. Tifton know about this?” Jane asked warily. None of them had been back to Arundel since the summer when they met Jeffrey; Jane had been only ten. She knew that a surprise Penderwick sister at her doorstep was enough to make Mrs. Tifton pack up and move across the country. None of the sisters had done anything greatly detrimental to her; although Skye’s temper had gotten the best of her on more than one occasion, and Batty had been so terrified by the woman that she had convinced her that she was mentally unstable. Even so, Mrs. Tifton held an everlasting grudge against the Penderwick family that had been known to complicate their friendship with her son. Jane was certain that Mrs. Tifton thought she was a freak, likely because of the numerous fairytale-like fantasies she had spouted in her presence. Jane had since learned to better control her imagination, but it still ran away with her upon occasion. Rosalind seemed to have been on the receiving end of most of Mrs. Tifton’s wrath, although no one was quite sure why. Jane’s theory was that Mrs. Tifton had blamed her for being unable to keep them under control, even if she was only a year older than Skye. Rosalind had adopted a motherly role after the Penderwicks’ own mother had died right after Batty was born, and she had maintained it until she went away to college. 

“Yes, she knows,” Iantha said. “In fact, it was her idea.” 

Everyone nearly fell over in shock. 

“Her idea?” Skye repeated. “What, is she going to murder whoever shows up?”

“It explains why Jeffrey only invited one of us,” Jane realized. “She’s picking us off, one by one. She's probably going to lock us up in a dark old dungeon and feed us nothing but stale bread and tainted water.”

“Forget that,” Batty added. “She’ll just wait for us to starve.” 

“That's enough, you guys,” scolded Iantha, although it looked like she was trying not to laugh. “I’m sure Jeffrey will explain everything to whoever shows up on Friday night.” 

They all looked at each other. 

“I can't go,” Batty realized, crestfallen. “I have a meeting about the Josh Howard Vocal Competition this weekend.” The music teacher at Wildwood Elementary School had recently discovered Batty’s ability to sing and had been giving her voice lessons ever since. This would be Batty’s first competition. 

“You could always skip it,” Skye suggested. 

_“Skip it?_ ” Jane was horrified. “The competition is in a month! There is a star in our family, Skye. Batty’s dreams have been realized, our prayers have been answered--” 

“She hasn't won yet,” Skye grumbled. 

“I have complete faith in her abilities,” Jane said indignantly. “The others don't stand a chance.” 

“Stop pressuring her, Jane,” Iantha said. “And Skye, be supportive of your sister.” 

“For once,” Jane threw in.

Skye made a face at her. “Maybe I’d be more supportive if you all were more interesting.”

“At least we don't spend all our time reading about astrophysics.” 

“Astrophysics is a fascinating subject, thank you very much,” said Iantha. She was an astrophysics professor at the same university where Mr. Penderwick taught botany.

If Iantha had been planning on saying something else, she was cut off by a high pitched wail coming from kitchen. 

“ASIMOV NOOO!” 

This was two year old Lydia, the youngest of the Penderwicks. Her dramatic sobs were interrupted by a loud crash, indicating that she had thrown something at Asimov, the family’s big orange cat. It was highly possible that whatever it was had flown wildly off course. 

“I’d better go see what happened,” Iantha sighed. Lydia hadn't stopped crying, in fact, she was now sobbing louder, having realized that her weapon of choice was now out of reach. “You two can figure out who’s going on your own,” Iantha said to Skye and Jane before heading into the kitchen. 

“What about me?” Ben demanded. 

“Sorry buddy,” Jane said. “Seven is too young for weekend adventures.” 

Ben folded his arms across his chest and bitterly stalked out to the backyard, probably to dig for rocks. Rocks were his passion, and the whole family believed he would one day become a paleontologist. 

Now it was just the three sisters left in the living room. 

“Jane, you should go,” said Skye, breaking the silence. 

For one glorious moment, Jane was elated, all memories of failed math tests and upcoming finals erased from her mind. She hadn't seen Jeffrey since Batty’s birthday party, nearly four weeks earlier. They had spoken on the phone many times, but it just wasn’t the same as spending some quality time face to face. 

Her jubilance didn't last long, however, because she soon came to the realization that Skye, who certainly wasn't the most generous of people, was not being selfless. She was avoiding Jeffrey. Under normal circumstances, Skye would have jumped at an opportunity to see him, but the two of them hadn't exchanged a single word in over a month. It was the longest they had ever gone without any form of communication. Jane’s face fell; she was torn. 

“I have to study.” The words were out of her mouth before she had completely made up her mind. “It would be irresponsible for me to go.” 

“But this is _Jeffrey_ we’re talking about,” Skye argued. “You ‘re going to fail the test anyway.” 

Jane sighed dramatically, wisely choosing to ignore that last bit. “You're right, Skye, this _is_ Jeffrey we’re talking about. You should be fighting me about this, not trying to convince me to go.” 

After some hesitation, Skye replied, “He’s not ready to see me yet.” 

“He’s not ready to see you, or you’re not ready to see him?” 

“I don’t know, both?” Skye said with a loud groan. “Just tell him that none of us can go this time.” 

“Jane, you should study at Arundel,” Batty said. “We can’t let Skye get in the way of us seeing Jeffrey. It’s getting a lot harder since she banished him from the house, this is your chance.” 

“ _She_ is right here,” Skye snapped. “And I didn’t banish him.” 

“Stop lying to yourself,” Jane said. “You’re right, Batty, I should go. It’s not Jeffrey’s fault that Skye is too much of a coward to address his feelings like a human being.” 

Jane had said it on purpose. Skye’s temper reminded Jane of a volcanic eruption, a violent storm of ash, fire, and angry lava. She was going to blow; all three sisters knew it. 

“I am _not_ a coward. I just have better things to worry about than his stupid crush.” Skye jumped to her feet. Her blonde hair was sticking out in a dozen different directions. She was the only one of the Penderwick sisters that hadn’t inherited their father’s brown eyes and curly dark hair. She instead had their mother’s straight blonde hair and blue eyes. Her father often told her that she had her mother’s hot temper as well. “He’ll get over it in a month or so, and it’s _his_ fault for making it public.” 

“It’s not a crush, Skye,” Jane said, unfazed by her sister’s ferocity. “He isn’t going to get over it, you’re going to break his heart, and when you do, the gods of Olympus will strike you dead.” 

Skye rolled her eyes. She was not in the mood for Greek gods or any other form of Jane’s fantastical nonsense. “Can we please stop talking about this?”

“Why are you so afraid of love?” Jane asked, cocking her head to one side curiously. 

“Good grief don’t get all analytical,” Skye said. “I am not afraid of it. Do I find it useless and stupid? Yes. Scary? _No_.” 

“Okay,” Jane said shortly. She wasn’t going to give Skye the fight that she was expecting. She abruptly changed the subject. “Batty, what song are you singing for the competition?” 

“I haven’t picked one yet.” Batty knew exactly what Jane was doing. “I’m still deciding if --” 

“I’m not afraid to talk to Jeffrey!” Skye shouted, stamping her foot to prove her point. Jane thought that it better proved hers. 

“We believe you.” Jane was still completely calm. Too calm. “Continue Batty.” 

“I can’t decide if I should sing an upbeat song or a slower, more emotional one about, say, love and heartbreak.” 

Jane snorted, and unsuccessfully attempted to cover it up with a violent cough attack.

Skye seemed to have regained control of her temper, even if it was only for a minute. Her eyes still flashed, and her cheeks were flushed in frustration. “Mock me all you want; I can take it. If you don’t want to believe me, that’s fine. I’ll prove you both wrong.” With that, she spun on her heel and stormed out of the living room. 

“Where are you going?” Jane called after her, doing her best to keep Skye from noticing her satisfaction. 

“TO PACK!” was Skye’s ill-tempered response. 

“Good work, valiant knight,” Jane praised Batty once she was certain that Skye was out of earshot. Batty took a theatrical bow. Jane started to laugh, more from relief than actual amusement. 

“You know she’s going to kill us when she figures out what happened, right?” Batty said. 

“Yep,” Jane answered in the midst of all her giggling. 

“JANE!” Skye shouted down the stairs, no more than a minute later. Jane started. Skye had caught on faster than she had thought she would. She had hoped it wouldn’t be until Skye was halfway to Arundel. No such luck. With a sigh, she ran up the stairs to the bedroom she and Skye shared. 

“You called?” She said upon entering, as innocently as she could. 

“Can you please keep your mess on your half of the room?” Skye demanded grouchily. She and Jane had had this conversation many times, and it had yet to be effective. Never before had two halves of the same room been so drastically different. Jane’s half was painted lavender with posters of her favorite books and tv shows plastered all over the walls. Books, wads of paper, and piles of clothes covered the floor. Skye’s half was organized and painted white, and the only thing on the wall was a framed poster of the periodic table. Naturally, of course, some of Jane’s clutter managed to drift into Skye’s half of the room, and it had infuriated her for years. 

“Sorry.” Jane kicked her stray books and folders back to where they belonged. She was a little relieved that Skye hadn’t been yelling about her methods of persuasion. 

“You would have a place to put that stuff if you cleared out your bookshelf,” Skye suggested. “I mean, do you really need all your Sabrina Starr books?”

Jane’s jaw dropped; she was thoroughly insulted. Sabrina Starr was the heroine in a series of rescue novels, all of them written by Jane, and had been the face of her writing dreams for years and years. It wasn’t until age 14 that Jane decided it was time to retire Sabrina and broaden her horizons so that she could improve as a writer. 

“Sabrina Starr is a Penderwick legend!” She exclaimed in horror. “How dare you?”

“I wouldn’t say legend.” Skye had never been a fan of Sabrina Starr, and she hadn’t been afraid to make her opinion of the heroine known to the entire family. “You wrote the first one _ten years ago_. Even with your jaded eyes, you have to see that it sucks.” 

“If I throw them away, I won’t be able to track my growth as a writer,” Jane looked at Skye as though it were obvious. “Aren’t you supposed to be packing?” 

Skye gestured to the duffle bag sitting at the foot of her bed. “I’m done. It’s a lot easier when you know where everything is.” 

Jane did not respond and instead left her grouchy sister alone to wallow about her existence. She headed back down the stairs, just in time to meet her father coming home from work. 

“Hi Daddy,” she greeted cheerfully. 

“Hello, daughter of mine,” he replied. “Sorry I’m late. I seem to have misplaced my glasses.” 

“They’re on your head, Martin,” Iantha said, as Lydia struggled to get out of her arms. 

Mr. Penderwick discovered that his glasses were, indeed, resting on the top of his head. “And so they are,” he said with a chuckle. “Mulier cum homo indigent somnia visum.”

As a botany professor, Mr. Penderwick was constantly surrounded by Latin words, but he didn’t use it just for talking about plants. He had become fluent in the ancient language and often threw some phrases into his everyday speech. Most of the time, the rest of the family had no idea what he was saying to them. Rosalind had taken Latin throughout middle school and high school, and she was now enrolled in an advanced Latin course at her college in Rhode Island. None of the other sisters had attempted to learn it. 

“Any news?” Mr. Penderwick asked as Iantha handed Lydia over to him so she would stop squirming. She sat down in a nearby chair and started plucking bits of fruit from her red hair. A hysterical Lydia had flung the smashed contents of her snack bowl into Iantha’s face. 

“I’m spending the weekend at Arundel.” Skye had come down from her bedroom just in time to hear her father’s question. “With Jeffrey.” She didn’t sound thrilled about it. 

“Are you?” Mr. Penderwick nearly dropped Lydia in surprise. 

“You don’t have to sound so shocked.” Jane knew Skye wanted nothing more than to find someone who believed that she could still visit Jeffrey voluntarily, without all hell breaking loose. No one did.

“I’m not, not at all,” Mr. Penderwick lied, looking sideways at Jane, who fought back a smile. 

“But don’t you have finals to study for?” he continued. “Your first one is on Monday, are you sure it’s a good idea to get into the, uh, complications you’re having with Jeffrey?” 

Jane’s heart sank down through the floor as Skye’s face lit up. She wanted Skye and Jeffrey to work everything out more than Skye did. 

“You know what, you’re probably right,” Skye said happily, and then turned to face Iantha. “I’m a little worried about astronomy, and I was hoping that you could help me study this weekend.” 

Iantha’s face remained expressionless; she wasn’t convinced. “Nice try, Skye, but you’re going.” 

Skye looked like she was about to protest, but Mr. Penderwick jumped in before she could say anything. 

“Iantha, school is what’s most important right now.” 

Iantha glanced over her shoulder at Jane, giving her a look that clearly said _can you give us some privacy please_. Jane received the message loud and clear, and pushed her sister back into the hallway. Skye went outside with a soccer ball, probably to take some shots at Ben, her go-to goalkeeper. Jane lingered by the living room to see what the verdict would be. 

“She’s just avoiding talking to him, Martin,” Iantha was saying. “You know that.” 

Jane heard her father sigh. She could picture him wiping his glasses with the hem of his shirt before placing them back on the bridge of his nose. 

“I do,” he said. “And I want them to work this out as much as you do, but what kind of a father would I be if I was willing to gamble with her grades just because I’m rooting for Jeffrey?” 

Jane grinned. The entire family wanted him to win Skye over. 

“It’s hardly a gamble,” Iantha pointed out. “Skye’s at the top of her astronomy class and she reads about it all the time. She certainly isn’t worried about it; I wouldn’t be surprised if she knew more about the subject than her teacher.” 

Mr. Penderwick chuckled. “Well, I hope you’re right. Why are all my daughters turning away the wrong boys? First Tommy, now Jeffrey.”

Tommy Geiger had dated Rosalind for years, and then right after graduation, they had split. Rosalind had insisted that it was a decision they had made together, but Tommy had stopped coming around the Penderwick house whenever Rosalind was home, and it was obvious that wasn’t the case. The Geigers had lived across the street from the Penderwicks ever since Rosalind was a baby. The Penderwick children had grown up with Tommy and his older brother Nick, and rarely a day had gone by without one of them dropping by and raiding the refrigerator. 

Mr. Penderwick stuck his head around the corner, causing Jane to jump and smack herself in the nose.

“Since you heard all of that, tell Skye the parental jury finds her guilty of all charges of making excuses. She is going.” 


	3. Chapter 3

Rosalind Penderwick pulled into the driveway, giddy with excitement; she hadn't been home since Batty's birthday. She had decided to drive home from her college in Rhode Island sooner than initially planned to surprise everyone. As she got out of her car, she fleetingly glanced across the street at the Geigers' house. She told herself it was just a habit and had nothing to do with Tommy, and although his car was parked outside, she couldn't care less if he was home or not. There had been a brief moment the previous month when the two of them had contemplated getting back together, but one final, brutal altercation had squandered all chances of that. They hadn't exchanged even two words since. She approached the front door and repressed all thoughts of Tommy for the time being. This weekend would be about family, not about ex-boyfriends.

Before she could lift a hand to knock, the front door banged open and Batty flung herself into Rosalind's arms.

"I saw your car from the window." She was panting heavily from sprinting down the stairs. "You aren't supposed to be home for two more weeks!"

"I just couldn't wait any longer." Rosalind swung her around in a circle before unwrapping Batty's arms from around her neck. "Come on, let's go inside. I want to say hi to everybody."

Rosalind was surprised, and confused, when she noticed that her little sister seemed suddenly nervous, fidgeting and repeatedly looking back at the door. "Actually, um, I need something for school. Do you think you could take me to the store?"

"In a little bit; I want to see everyone."

Batty looked like she wanted to protest, but didn't say anything. Rosalind paused for a moment, looking at Batty suspiciously. When she still didn't argue with her, Rosalind walked into the house and rapped a knuckle on the door as she passed through to give the rest of the family a head's up about her entrance. It drew Iantha into the living room with Lydia squirming in her arms, covered in strawberry jam.

"Rosalind!" She shifted Lydia from one arm to the other and wiped the jam off the toddler's face with the sleeve of her sweater. "You're home early."

"And don't you all seem happy about it." Rosalind was a little put out; she couldn't deny it. This wasn't exactly the welcome she had been expecting, or that she was accustomed to.

"I'm sorry, honey, of course we are thrilled to see you." Iantha did seem genuinely apologetic, and for that Rosalind was grateful. "It's just been a bit hectic around here lately, you know how it is."

That she did. Juggling the Penderwick family schedule was no simple task. She herself had served as the single calming force amongst her crazy relatives for a majority of her young life. Since leaving for college, the responsibility had largely fallen on the shoulders of Iantha, and with that Rosalind could sympathize.

"Let me help," Rosalind offered. "I can straighten up and start dinner."

"Oh no, don't," Iantha replied, a little too quickly. Rosalind eyed her with a growing suspicion. "I mean, you just got back, you should relax. We were planning on calling for pizza anyways."

"Really I don't mind," Rosalind argued, heading for the kitchen despite Iantha's protests. "And I like to think my cooking is better than pizza."

"Yes, but, I really think you should-" Rosalind had made up her mind at that point. She knew Iantha was trying to be nice, but someone needed to help her out. It was clear the poor woman was exhausted. Five children and a frazzled husband was a lot for anyone to handle. Iantha was still objecting. "Rosalind, seriously, I wouldn't go in there-oh dear."

Her final opposition had fallen on deaf ears, and as Rosalind entered the kitchen, she finally understood what all the fuss was about. She wished she could reverse the time to listen to Iantha and take a nap on the couch. Tommy Geiger was sitting at the table, watching football on his laptop and scratching an elated Asimov behind the ears. Rosalind silently cursed her family for not being honest with her, and longed to sink through the floor and escape. With that regretfully not an option, she took another approach, praying he hadn't noticed her. If there was one thing that could keep him that well distracted, it was football. She backed away, almost in the clear, and walked straight into Iantha, who had followed her, likely hoping to deter any arguing that could break out between the two of them.

Lydia exposed her. "ROSALINDD!" She shrieked, as if seeing her for the first time. Perhaps she understood the precarious situation before her and was consciously choosing to be a diabolical little twerp. "Lydia missed you, Lydia loooves you."

Rosalind made a face at her baby sister. As much as she loved her, here she was again, the infuriating, albeit adorable source of all her grievances.

"Good to see you too, Rosy," Tommy said, shutting his computer with a sharp snap.

"Hi Tommy," Rosalind turned her attention to him, doing her best to keep her reluctance out of her voice. "How are you?"

"Fine." His gaze remained fixed on her long after the completion of his cursory response.

Rosalind shifted uncomfortably under his stare. It was like he was challenging her. "You're a great conversationalist as always."

"Leave it at "hi," Rosalind. Don't patronize me."

"That's a big word, where'd you pick that up?"

"Nice to know you still think you're better than me."

This was the largest dividing issue between them. Contrary to Tommy's constantly and loudly expressed opinion, Rosalind did not consider herself superior to him. She had only ever wanted him to work to reach his full potential outside the football field, but pushing him, especially post-breakup, had only driven a wedge further between them.

"Don't say anything to me next time and you won't have to worry about it." It was a weak comeback, she knew, but she didn't have much else to say. She had been patronizing, she could admit to that, even if it was just a little.

"Believe me, I was going to let you sneak back out, but," he gestured over at Lydia, "I guess no such luck."

Rosalind was fuming. He was still the one that forced a conversation in the first place, if it could even be considered that. She was the one who tried to avoid confrontation. It was easy to remember the fights that they had gotten into, but she had almost forgotten how he could instantly infuriate her.

"Now children, play nicely." Jane had joined them, likely drawn in by the commotion. "Hi Rosy."

Rosalind merely offered her a ghost of a smile as a response. Tommy stood up, causing Asimov to fall from his lap onto the floor. He squalled angrily before stalking off, indignant, tail held high.

"Are you really leaving?" Jane protested. "A brave soldier does not shy away from his battles."

"Some battles don't need to be fought," he replied, pausing to look back at her. "Sorry Jane, I'll see you later." He thanked Iantha and headed for the back door; going through the backyard would be his quickest getaway.

"But you came over for dinner." Maybe manipulating Skye had motivated Jane to attempt to fix both of her sister's broken, yet destined relationships. She had not given up on Rosalind and Tommy. She knew true love when she saw it. She was a writer; writers were born to be experts in the realm of the human heart. At least, those of other people; her own love life was a different matter. Bleak and nonexistent. But it was of little importance. She lived vicariously through books, and through her sisters. She liked to think of herself as the writer of their romantic endeavors. They were just unaware.

"I have dinner with you guys all the time, this is not the best night."

"He's right it's not," Rosalind spoke up, willing him to leave. Her plan was for a nice, relaxing night with her family, she was not going to spend it fighting with Tommy. "And I'm not going to cook for him."

"That's the last thing I would want," Tommy insisted.

"Funny, I think I remember you begging me to cook for you."

"Don't act like you didn't want to."

"Alright, Tommy," Iantha said, finally stepping in. She set Lydia into her highchair before gently pushing Tommy towards the door again. "As much as we are all enjoying this touching moment between you two, I think you should go. We'll see you soon, okay? Bye-bye."

Tommy laughed and followed her instructions, and Rosalind was briefly caught up in how fond she was of his smile. It really was his best feature. It was a fleeting thought, however, and she shuddered and repressed it as soon as she was aware of it. It was better to focus on his more negative qualities.

"You should've told me he was here instead of being weird," Rosalind complained. "That could have easily been avoided."

"Then what? Told him to leave? We invited him over three days ago; you were the unexpected one." Iantha turned back to Rosalind, hands on her hips. "Or told you to leave? My daughter that I haven't seen in weeks? I don't think so. And you two don't exactly just coexist."

"And Rosalind, you still could have easily avoided that," Jane added. "Only one of you was being antagonistic, and let me tell you, it wasn't Tommy."

"I really wish you would make more of an effort to at least be civil with him, the rest of us happen to like Tommy." Iantha was clearly fed up with their drama.

Rosalind did feel bad. She knew she was being selfish, and there was a part of her that felt guilty about it. But at the same time, she knew she just wasn't at that point yet, and from the looks of it, neither was Tommy. As much as the rest of the family might not appreciate it, they had to get there on their own time. They had quite the history, it wasn't something she could just move on from overnight. Or after several months, though not from lack of trying.

"I know, you're right," Rosalind sighed and tossed a hand through her hair. "Should I go say sorry?"

Jane said yes at the same time that Skye said no, finally entering the kitchen.

"I like the way you think, Skye." Rosalind sat down at the table; a single no was all she needed, even if it was from her most cynical sister.

"Since when?" Skye said grouchily as she plopped into the seat across from Rosalind.

"What's with you?" asked Rosalind. "I missed you too."

"She's nervous about her weekend with Jeffrey," Jane answered. "In that big house, all alone."

"Mrs. TD will be there," Skye argued. "We won't be alone. And I'm not nervous."

"Stop teasing her," Iantha said. "She'll decide not to go."

"No way," Jane disagreed. "She knows I'd say she chickened out."

Skye buried her face in her arms and groaned loudly. "Shut up, shut up, shut UP."

Rosalind patted her arm from across the table (half to comfort her, half to join in on the teasing), before she stood up and combed through the fridge for something to whip up before Mr. Penderwick came home.


	4. Chapter 4

Friday afternoon snuck up on Skye sooner than she would have liked. Batty knew if she had it her way, it never would have come at all.

"You're acting like I'm leaving forever," Skye grumbled. The whole family was outside ready to see her off. "It's just the weekend."

"I called in the cavalry as a precaution." Even Mr. Penderwick couldn't help but rib her a little. " _Bonus fortuna, mea pertinax filiae_."

Batty hid a small smile; his Latin helped nothing in times like this. Skye clearly was not amused; she violently threw her bag into the front seat of Nick Geiger's blue pickup truck. Also a Jeffrey fan, he graciously had loaned it to her for the weekend.

Batty couldn't understand why Skye was so opposed to a relationship with Jeffrey. She herself had been in love with him for the majority of her young life, and while at age eleven she was much too old for such foolishness and had grown out of her crush, she thought there were no excuses for her older sister.

"If you all weren't making such a big deal about it maybe I'd be happier about going," Skye said.

"We just miss Jeffrey," Rosalind told her. "You scared him off. We love him even if you don't."

Jane coughed into her fist. "Tommy."

Rosalind opened her mouth to argue but had nothing to say.

Skye nudged her smugly with her elbow. "Ha."

Rosalind slapped her away and folded her arms defensively. Batty was watching closely and not saying anything; quiet and observant was her preferred state around her bickering siblings. She noticed Rosalind involuntarily look over at the Geigers' house. She knew Rosalind was lying to herself; she missed Tommy.

Skye was lingering outside of the truck door, perhaps contemplating if it was too late to back out. Mr. Penderwick walked up, gave her a quick hug and kissed the top of her head. "See you on Sunday, promise me you'll have a little fun." He was nicely urging her to get going.

Skye rolled her eyes. "I'll try."

"Not too much fun," Mr. Penderwick warned. "I like Jeffrey, but you're still my little girl."

"Stop, stop." Skye cringed and waved her arms wildly in front of her face as if to erase the image. She jumped into the truck and slammed the door; the tires squealed against the pavement as she escaped as quickly as she could. Everyone stood and watched until she disappeared around the corner and they were satisfied that she was officially on her way.

"20 bucks she comes back and they eloped," Jane said, breaking the long silence.

"I can't say I'd be all that upset," Mr. Penderwick laughed.

"Daddy!" Rosalind was shocked, even if he was just teasing. "I'd be furious."

"Skye won't let you plan her wedding anyway," Jane pointed out. "But don't worry, you still have me and Batty."

"I'd like to plan my own wedding before any of yours, thank you very much," Rosalind said.

"I'm too young to get married," Batty piped in.

Mr. Penderwick ruffled her hair. "Thank you, Battikins. You're all too young, even Skye," he said with a pointed look at Jane. The joke had gone on too long for him to remain comfortable with the conversation.

"You just said-" Jane started to protest but her father was already walking away, chuckling as he headed back into the house.

"I want cookies," Rosalind said randomly. "Batty, help me make some."

"Hey," Jane said. "What about me?"

"You can't bake, Jane."

"I'm better than Skye."

"That's not saying much," Batty replied.

"Do you want to help?" Rosalind tried to appease her.

"Not at all," Jane said. "But it's nice to be included."

Rosalind shook her head and followed their father back up the driveway. Batty nearly skipped behind her; baking with Rosalind was one of her favorite pastimes, and cookies always made everything better.

"It's fine," Jane called after them. "I know I'm the forgotten sister, but I have accepted it. I channel my pain into my writing."

"Your personality is too big," Rosalind responded back. "You won't let us forget you."

"That's a low and unnecessary blow."

Batty couldn't help but laugh; she knew Jane was not truly offended. She also knew she was Rosalind's favorite, even if her sister would never admit it. They shared a special bond that neither of them had with any of their other siblings. It was a comforting feeling.

Rosalind gathered together the baking supplies while Batty pulled bowls and spoons out of the cabinets. Even though Jane was not helping, she didn't want to be left out of the kitchen chaos. She dragged her backpack in from the front room and dramatically heaved it up onto the table. When she pulled out her math book, loose pens and wads of paper tumbled out with it and rolled underneath her chair.

"Skye's going to kill you," Batty said. Rosalind poured the recipe's dry ingredients into measuring cups and handed them to Batty to mix together in her bowl.

"I'll clean it up by Sunday," Jane protested.

"No you won't."

"I'll clean it up _on_ Sunday," Jane amended her statement.

Jane's messy tendencies were beginning to also get on Batty's nerves. The rest of the family had been irritated by it for years, but Batty had just begun to reach the age where she actually cared one way or the other. Her older sister always did eventually clean up after herself, but only after incessant nagging from each of the other Penderwicks. Even seven year old Ben kept his room neater than Jane's half of her and Skye's room, although only marginally.

Batty added her flour mixture into the bowl where Rosalind had combined the sugar, eggs, and other ingredients. She struggled to stir them together without spraying flour all over the counter, and Rosalind graciously took over so that the impending mess could be avoided.

"Should I bring back Sabrina Starr?" Jane mused.

"Math, Jane," Rosalind reminded her.

"I am not a mathematician," Jane complained. "I am a writer, an artist, I do not need to waste my time on useless numbers."

"Colleges like those useless numbers," Rosalind said.

"Touché." Jane dejectedly sighed and finally opened her textbook to begin the first problem. "Woe is me."

* * *

As Skye approached the correct interstate exit, she contemplated missing it and pushing back her arrival time. She forced herself not to, however, and scolded herself for being tempted to fall into the comforting hands of cowardice. She was a fighter; she could handle a little awkwardness. Easy.

She pulled into the mansion's driveway and all she could think about was how much more daunting Arundel was than she remembered. She pushed down her nerves the best that she could and walked up the ridiculously long path to the front door. Immediately after ringing the doorbell, she heard the Tifton's housekeeper, Churchie, call "coming" from inside, and then the large oak door swung open wide and Churchie wrapped Skye in a tight embrace.

"My goodness how you've grown," she said. "I know you kids don't like to hear that, but it's been so long since I've seen you, I can't help myself."

It had been, she was right. Skye was eleven the last time she had been to Arundel. She was typically annoyed by adults making such comments, but somehow, coming from Churchie she only found it endearing.

"Alright, give her room to breathe." Jeffrey had joined them at the door. Skye hoped Churchie couldn't feel her heart rate increase as her apprehension intensified.

Churchie laughed and released her from her hug, just in time. Skye wasn't the biggest hugger.

"Hey." Jeffrey briefly hesitated before giving her a quick hug himself. "I'm glad you're here, Skye."

It sounded innocent, but it was a loaded comment. They hadn't so much as texted each other in weeks; Skye knew they had both been wondering if they would ever recover. Despite her fearless front, nothing scared Skye more than the thought of truly losing Jeffrey as a friend for good, even if she had been the one to initiate the distance between them. She still wasn't entirely to blame, or even mostly. The distance would never have needed to be initiated if he would have let everything stay the way that it was: perfect. Skye had learned that people seldom allowed things to stay perfect for very long. Jeffrey was proving not to be special after all.

"Yeah." Skye wasn't sure how else to respond. She couldn't agree; she did not know if she was glad she was there yet. She would wait to see how the rest of the night progressed, then she would decide. Uneasiness had wiped her memory of all possible conversation starters, and words already weren't exactly Skye's forte.

"I thought it was going to be Jane, if I am being honest," Jeffrey admitted. He was probing her, wondering why she was there. Of course he would want to know what made her suddenly decide it was okay to speak to him again. He didn't know that it hadn't quite been her choice.

Skye searched his face for any signs that he was hopeful of a newfound reciprocity of his romantic feelings, but she found none. He appeared to be only wary, guarded, as if he had lost his trust in her. Although a well-deserved sentiment, it stung, and Skye had to subdue her bubbling defensiveness.

"So did I," she said. "But her pre-calc final is next Tuesday, so you get me instead."

"Disappointing."

Skye was ready to fire back that it wasn't her idea of a good time either, but Jeffrey was biting his bottom lip in a failed attempt to hide his grin. Uncharacteristically relieved, Skye realized that he was messing with her, and the impending argument was postponed until a later, unspecified time. It was risky of him to tease her like that, considering, but Jeffrey had never been one to dwell on past conflicts, at least not substantially. Skye embodied that role enough for the both of them.

Churchie was a perceptive woman; she glanced back and forth between the two of them, her eyes narrowed as she picked up on the diluted animosity hanging over them like a storm cloud.

"Well," She clapped her hands together enthusiastically. "I just made some gingerbread. It's fresh out of the oven and ready for you in the kitchen."

She was stepping in to defuse the tension. Skye and Jeffrey followed her through Arundel's many grand rooms in silence. They walked side by side, but there was considerable and deliberate space between them. Out of the corner of her eye, Skye could see Jeffrey casting numerous, trepidatious looks in her direction, but she kept her gaze fixed straight ahead to avoid all eye contact. It would forever baffle her how such a grand, luxurious lifestyle had produced a person as unmaterialistic as Jeffrey, but he was as separated from his wealthy upbringing as he could be. The Tiftons had enough money to purchase every home on the Penderwicks' block, but you'd never know it talking to him.

The kitchen counter was covered in baking sheets and pans filled with more than just gingerbread. There were cupcakes, pies, and every type of cookie imaginable expectantly waiting to be devoured. It was Churchie's gingerbread that was the famous dessert, however, and she slid a thick piece onto a plate and handed it to Skye.

"Did you think her whole family was coming?" Jeffrey teased her, clearly taken aback by the overload of sweets. He sat opposite Skye at the granite island in the center of the kitchen. "The two of us can only eat so much."

"Speak for yourself," Skye disagreed. "By the time I leave it will all be gone." Skye was a varsity soccer player, but her diet reflected that of a three hundred pound man. She could eat her weight and then some.

"I may have gotten a bit carried away," Churchie said with a smile that was more proud than speechless. "We haven't had a guest in this house in months, let alone a _Penderwick_. She reached over to pinch Skye's cheek, but that was too much for Skye to continue to humor her. She dodged her hand and popped a piece of gingerbread into her mouth.

Churchie had sent her baking the Penderwicks' way on many occasions over the years, but there was something different about it at its birthplace. Skye's turf was the soccer field, Churchie's was Arundel's kitchen.

Skye looked around, taking in the exact same, yet strangely unfamiliar kitchen she had sat in so many years before. The last time she and her sisters had been there, also enjoying freshly baked gingerbread, Churchie had invited them all to Jeffrey's birthday party – a fancy dinner not at all suited for a boy turning eleven. Had she foreseen the evening's events, Churchie never would have said anything. That dinner had paved the way for Mrs. Tifton's long-lasting disdain for the Penderwick family. Despite that, it had turned out to be a breakthrough moment for the girls' friendship with Jeffrey. The first had been when he, Skye, and Jane had not-so-dignifiedly saved four year old Batty from a gruesome death by bull.

"What?" Jeffrey snapped her out of her daze. He had been watching her disappear into her childhood memories.

"Nothing," Skye waved him off. "Reminiscing."

He grinned. "I didn't know you were the type."

"I'm not," Skye insisted. She had an image to maintain; sappy nostalgia did not fit the mold. "I can't believe we fought a bull."

Jeffrey laughed. "Sometimes I wonder if that was even real."

"Fought" was a loosely used term; Jeffrey had outrun the angry bull for the length of half its field, slid under a fence and evaded mauling by mere seconds. But it didn't matter what word Skye used to describe it, it didn't feel real at all.

"I hated you before that too, I really did." That didn't feel real to Skye either. This was nothing they hadn't discussed previously, in great detail, but there was something comforting – dare she say "safe" – about recounting their early experiences with one another.

"I know," Jeffrey said with a short laugh. "And I did nothing to you. You just can't handle embarrassment."

He wasn't wrong. One of the first things Skye said to him was an ignorant, although not inaccurate, insult about his mother. As first impressions go, it certainly had not been one of the best. But luckily, there was nothing like a near-death experience to draw people together, even if the risk had likely been exaggerated in their minds.

"Is that why Jane showed up with a rehearsed apology speech?" Churchie was fascinated; she had never joined them on their past trips down memory lane.

"Yes!" Skye said, a little too vehemently. When Skye had refused to apologize herself, Jane had been elected to do so on her behalf. "That was and still is the single most humiliating moment of my life. I could not face him."

Jeffrey did his best impression of eleven year old, big-mouthed Skye, gleefully mocking her. "'That's snooty Mrs. Tifton and she's a real pain.'"

Skye turned to him, mouth agape. "You do not — oh my god, you remember exactly what I said?"

Jeffrey laughed through a mouthful of gingerbread, choking as he forced it down his throat and coughing into his sleeve.

"No, you're kidding. I'm so embarrassed." Skye grabbed fistfuls of her hair to visualize the pain she was now feeling. "I might die."

"That's dramatic."

"No, really. Death is coming, I can feel it." Skye abruptly released her hair.

"Hey, I got over it a while ago," Jeffrey promised. "It's not like you were wrong, my mother is awful."

"Jeffrey!" Churchie scolded, although she was clearly equally amused. Skye didn't think that Churchie thought that she had been wrong either.

"It doesn't matter!" Skye was mortified. "It already keeps me up at night, I don't need you quoting me."

"I can keep going," Jeffrey assured her. He pitched his voice higher and resumed his impersonation of young Skye. "'I'd never make cookies for a boy—'"

Skye dove over the counter in a desperate attempt to stop him, but he only laughed and danced out of her reach.

"'Especially a rich—'"

Skye had caught up to him and leaped onto his back, her legs wrapping tightly around his waist as she threw all of her dignity to her wind. She struggled to cover his mouth with one hand while using the other to fend off his defenses. He spun in a circle and tossed his head around to shake off her hand. Her arm slipped insubordinately around his neck in a reflexive, but successful effort to prevent her from falling.

"'A rich stuck up boy—'"

Skye took a different approach, and with one arm still clinging to him for dear life, used her free hand to snatch up the remainder of his gingerbread. She forced the entirety of it into his mouth, successfully silencing him. She kept her palm clapped over his lips as he chewed it beneath her fingers. She could feel him shaking from suppressed laughter.

Once he had swallowed, he stuck his tongue through his teeth and licked her hand. She immediately yanked it away and wiped it on his chest, letting out a disgusted squeal much too girly for her liking.

"'With a snooty mother,'" Jeffrey finished, his satisfaction too apparent.

Skye punched him as she released him and dropped her feet back to the ground, refusing to fully admit defeat even though she had most definitely lost. "Jerk."

"Bitch." Jeffrey winked at her.

Skye narrowed her eyes. _Supernatural_ references were her weakness, how dare he use that against her? She cursed her past self for ever forcing him to watch it with her. But soon, she too was laughing, the probability that she had been far too touchy with him a great distance from her thoughts.

"I really was awful, wasn't I?"

"Completely."

"Oh, Jeffrey, stop." Churchie swatted a kitchen towel at them. She had busied herself wiping stray baking ingredients off the counters while observing what she would have considered them flirting. Skye would have adamantly disagreed. She didn't flirt, and she definitely didn't flirt with Jeffrey. Fortunately, Skye had not considered the chance that that was how it could have appeared, and what would have likely been a disaster was therefore averted.

"Honestly though, it's not like I've ever been close to my mother," Jeffrey said with a shrug. "But hearing stuff like that from total strangers makes you a little defensive."

"Literally in your front yard too." Skye shook her head at the memory, not entirely unfondly, in spite of all her previous protesting. As embarrassing as it might have been, Jane called it fate, and for once, Skye was not inclined to disagree with her, at least not completely. While she still believed the concept of destiny and fate was total crap, it had been one lucky dive through a hedge. She had crawled through a tunnel in the shrubbery and crashed headfirst into Jeffrey. Friendship really could sprout from the strangest of things.

"So Skye, tell me." Churchie looked at Skye expectantly, leaning over the counter and propped her chin up with her fists. "What trouble have you gotten into lately?"

"Nothing life changing," Skye said. "I love the faith you have in me, Churchie."

The corner of Jeffrey's mouth quirked upwards in a smile so small and so brief that Skye wasn't certain she had seen it at all. His gaze lingered on her pensively. She hoped he understood that his latest battles against her temper didn't mean the end of their friendship forever. Of course, it would have been significantly easier for the both of them if Skye would have chosen to clarify this, but she had never been one to put her feelings into words.

"Any special boys in your life?" Churchie asked. "For any of you girls?"

Skye stiffened and flashed an instinctive glower in Jeffrey's direction. He was rubbing his fingers over the side of his nose, looking like he wanted fade away into nonexistence – an unfortunate impossibility.

"Nope." Skye failed to sound nonchalant. "We are all very single."

"Really?" Churchie did not seem surprised, and she sounded suspiciously pleased. Either she had a secret dislike for Skye, or she was prying into the current strain on Skye and Jeffrey's relationship – their platonic relationship. "Pretty girls like you? I thought you'd have the boys lining up."

Jeffrey coughed uncomfortably into his fist, then nervously pulled on his lower lip. Churchie did not appear to notice.

"Single by choice," Skye clarified. "I've had boys interested."

Jeffrey's face flushed and his discomfort intensified. Skye wasn't necessarily trying to jab at him; it came with the conversation; one she would have hated equally as much if Jeffrey wasn't involved.

"Skye scares them off," Jeffrey explained to Churchie. Skye detected a slight chill in his inflection. She bristled against his petty comment. "She isn't big on romance."

Churchie laughed. "One day that will change."

"Doubtful," Skye scoffed. "And some of them can't take a hint. They're hard to scare off."

That was a purposeful jab. She really was not considerate of his feelings in the slightest. She just wanted them to go away. It wasn't her fault that he'd had to change everything. She wasn't going to walk on eggshells around him, or anyone with fragile emotions. Jeffrey himself wasn't fragile, per se, but she thought love itself was. Resulting weakness could not be helped.

Jeffrey appeared to be less offended by her statement and more irritated with her for saying it. Skye didn't care. If he had enlisted Churchie to meddle, it was his own problem. Bringing other people into their business (more importantly, Skye's business) was not an adequate persuasion tactic. Skye thought he should have known better, but then again, he had proven himself to be desperate. Desperation had a nasty way of messing with one's judgement.

"They're just impressed by you," Churchie said. "You are quite the catch Skye."

Skye didn't want to be caught by anyone. As much as Skye did like Churchie, the poor woman was doing nothing but damage Jeffrey's already nonexistent chances with her. Her heart may have been in the right place, but Skye was embarrassed. She hated having her feeling exposed to anyone, even if they did kindly choose not to directly talk to her about them.

The following silence grew more awkward with each passing moment. They were saved from the continuous struggle of coming up with something to say when keys rattled in the front door, and Skye heard the tapping of Mrs. Tifton's heels against the wood flooring.

"Churchie!" Mrs. Tifton called down the hall. Her voice was as sharp and demanding as Skye remembered. "Is that her truck in the driveway?"

"Oh boy," Jeffrey said. He pushed Skye towards the backdoor. "Quick, outside!"

"Jeffrey, she is making an effort here," Churchie reminded him. Skye was floored. She had heard nothing of this. Mrs. Tifton wanted to make an effort? To what? Get on good terms with her? She nearly laughed out loud. That hardly seemed likely.

"I know, just…" Jeffrey didn't seem thrilled by the concept himself. "Later."

They escaped into the open backyard and Jeffrey quietly slid the door shut behind them. He pulled a soccer ball from the nearby bushes and tossed it at Skye.

"She won't follow us out here if we look busy," he explained, as if that was currently the most confusing thing for Skye. She was up for soccer at any time, no explanation needed.

"This is really flat," Skye pointed out. She pressed her palms into the sides of the ball, bending it into a deformed oval to demonstrate its need for air.

"I'm a bit out of practice," Jeffrey admitted with a guilty smile.

"I'll say." Skye threw the ball at his chest and he caught it with ease before tossing it back.

This went on for several minutes before either of them said anything, but the silence wasn't as awkward as before. Perhaps the ball was keeping them distracted, or maybe it was easier for them to slip back into normal interactions than Skye had been expecting. At least, as long as she could stay clear of anyone peppering her with questions about boyfriends. That was the last thing either of them needed at the moment.


	5. Chapter 5

Jeffrey had guaranteed her, quite adamantly, that this was an informal dinner; her sweatshirt and jeans were perfectly acceptable attire. Skye wasn't convinced. The two of them were supposed to meet Mrs. Tifton in the dining room for dinner, and Skye didn't want to offend her prematurely by being underdressed. Not that she cared what Jeffrey's mother thought of her, but she did want the satisfaction of exceeding at least some of her low expectations, or at the very least, to rub Mrs. Tifton's nose in some of her successes without an inappropriate outfit distracting her. It was still Mrs. Tifton's steadfast belief that Jeffrey was far too good to be friends with Skye or any of her siblings, and it was her duty as the sole Penderwick representative to uphold her family's honor.

Skye stared at her reflection in Jeffrey's closet mirror and swatted at the strings on her jacket. "You really don't think I need to change?" She asked for the fifth time. "Put makeup on or something?"

Jeffrey's fingers had been skirting sporadically across the keys of his piano, as they often did when he was bored or impatient. Currently, he was both. The thought of Skye and makeup startled him into stopping, however, and he looked over at Skye incredulously. "Did you bring makeup?"

Skye only wore makeup for very special occasions. Even at prom she had sported only concealer and a bit of mascara. And still had turned plenty of heads; although looking pretty was not something Skye put any effort into, it was something she couldn't help. She was effortlessly beautiful, just as her mother had been.

"Of course not," Skye scoffed. "It's just a thought."

"It's casual, Skye." Jeffrey repeated exactly what he had told her before. "I don't dress up every time I have dinner with my mother."

"Yeah?" Skye argued. "When is the last time you did that?"

"Touché," said Jeffrey. "Actually maybe I do."

"I'm changing."

Skye's bag was sitting at the end of his bed, and Jeffrey lay on top of it to block her from digging through it for a different outfit.

"Move," Skye demanded, crossing her arms.

Jeffrey did not move. "You don't have to impress my mother."

Skye's mouth dropped open indignantly. "I'm not trying to! I just don't want to cause any unnecessary problems."

Jeffrey snorted. "Since when?"

"I don't want to cause them; I can't help myself. There's a difference."

Skye had always been opinionated. She had a tendency to broadcast her thoughts, with only a hindsight consideration for the oft-unfortunate ramifications.

"Right, you're bound to piss her off no matter what, so what's there to worry about?"

Skye grabbed a pillow and beat Jeffrey over the head with it. "Thanks. Helpful."

"Honestly, Skye, she's going to be the one trying to impress you," said Jeffrey. "And I'm already embarrassed."

"Good. You deserve that." Skye hadn't forgiven him for exploiting her own embarrassment earlier that evening. "But why would she want to?" She still hadn't the faintest idea what it was that Mrs. Tifton was trying to accomplish, or why.

Jeffrey waved her off. "She's trying to get closer to me or something. I think she's trying to compete with my dad."

Well, that was a futile aspiration; they both knew that. Skye laughed shortly. "But you and Alec are practically the same person. She's, well—"

"A stuck up bitch," Jeffrey finished for her. "Yeah, exactly."

Now, Skye and her sisters had made plenty of derogatory jokes about Mrs. Tifton over the years, some in the presence of Jeffrey, some not, but something about the way that he had said that seemed different to her. Angrier. And Skye had never heard him call his mother a bitch before, even if it was an accurate description.

Jeffrey didn't expand any further, and instead switched back to discussing Skye's dinner attire. "Besides, she knows you aren't one for dressing up, I've told her that much. It would be counterproductive for you to."

"You discuss my clothes with your mother?" Skye was appalled.

"Not like that," said Jeffrey. "She just knows you're a tomboy."

This was a satisfactory enough answer for Skye, and she resigned herself to remain in her regular garb.

As they made their way downstairs, Skye was tempted to ask him to elaborate on why all of this was happening again, but she decided it wasn't the best idea to push him on it with so little time. There was a reason he was being uncharacteristically reticent, and Skye knew him too well to brush it off without a second thought. She made a mental note to drag the answer out of him later that evening.

Walking with him to the dining room was far more comfortable than their previous trip to the kitchen has been, despite the undoubtedly awkward dinner waiting for them when they got there. It was as if having to politely converse with Mrs. Tifton for at least the next hour had united them against a common enemy.

Mrs. Tifton was standing at the end of the long dining room – dining hall would've been a more apt description – facing away from them as she stared out the window. Skye had a brief flashback to Jeffrey's eleventh birthday party, marching down that same, lengthy room with her three sisters, her wet shoes loudly squishing and piling onto everyone's previous anxiety about meeting Jeffrey's mother.

As they got closer to Mrs. Tifton, Skye realized that she was on the phone and snapping crossly at whoever it was on the other end.

"I don't care what he wants, I will handle this how I see fit. He doesn't get—"

"Ready, Mother?" Jeffrey said, quietly announcing their presence before Skye had fully prepared herself for once again looking Mrs. Tifton in the eye.

She turned to face them and held up an impatient finger. She hardly even glanced in Skye's direction. Skye suspected that she was no less uncomfortable about this than she was.

"My son is here; I don't have time for this right now. Just tell him to sign it before I sue."

Skye looked over at Jeffrey as if to ask: what's up with her? He shrugged in response.

Mrs. Tifton had ended her call and she slid her phone into the pocket of her white blazer.

"I apologize," she said, although Skye didn't think that it sounded like she cared one way or the other. "Skye, correct?"

Likely, she was trying to offset the many times she had called Skye 'Jane,' and vice versa. Skye barely had time to confirm with a curt nod before Mrs. Tifton continued.

"Churchie has the table set; let's sit." She headed for the table without waiting for them to agree.

"After you," Skye said to Jeffrey with a wave of her hand. He grimaced at her before obliging; it was only fitting. She was his mother after all.

Sure enough, place settings were already arranged. Mrs. Tifton had sat to the right of the head of the table (much too long for just the three of them), the seat that Jeffrey now occupied. This left Skye to sit directly across from Mrs. Tifton. She thought that this was the most awkward of the possible seating arrangements, but there was nothing she could do about it now except buck up and face her challenge head on. And be extra careful to watch her table manners.

Mrs. Tifton had already poured herself quite the generous glass of red wine. "Would you like some, Skye?"

Skye's hand froze halfway through serving herself mashed potatoes. Was this a test? "I'm good with water, thanks." She resumed scooping the potatoes onto her plate.

For a while, no one spoke as they busied themselves with filling their plates. They began to eat in silence, with Skye and Jeffrey exchanging the occasional communicative glance, which would have made Skye laugh if she would have allowed herself to go there.

Mrs. Tifton soon decided that the lack of conversation had grown more uncomfortable than anything that any one of them could say to each another. Skye and Jeffrey both disagreed.

"Graduation is coming up. How does that feel?"

Skye was almost relieved. This she could handle. Adults had been asking her that very question so many times as of late that she could have recited her answer in her sleep. She said the same thing every time, verbatim.

"I've practically had senioritis since I was a freshman," said Skye. "I'm ready for something new and exciting."

"And which university will you be attending?"

"USC."

"California? My goodness." Mrs. Tifton sounded genuinely surprised. "Well, that's certainly far from that family you're so close to, isn't it?"

"I'll be okay." Skye didn't know if the statement's negative connotation was intentional or if it was something she had fabricated herself due to its source. Either way, she couldn't keep the frost from creeping into her voice.

"I'm sure you will." Mrs. Tifton wiped the corner of her mouth with her napkin before refolding it and tucking it underneath her plate. "Though, admittedly not what I was expecting." She looked at Jeffrey. "Why didn't you tell me she was moving so far away? I never hear anything from you these days."

"You never ask." Jeffrey spoke directly into the glass of water he'd had raised to his lips before taking a sip and setting it back down with a matter of fact bang.

Mrs. Tifton flashed him a stern glare before turning her attention back to Skye.

"I've only been to Los Angeles one time, and I have to say, I found it a bit third-rate, especially for how glamorous it's said to be. I can't imagine why anyone would want to live there."

Jeffrey was prodding repeatedly at his chicken breast without doing any real work to cut into it. He looked embarrassed that his mother was once again inserting her social standing into a conversation.

"I thought I might like the weather," Skye quipped with a forced smile.

"Their engineering program is one of the best," Jeffrey added as he finally sliced off a piece of chicken. "USC is a prestigious university, Mother."

"I know it is, Jeffrey." Mrs. Tifton took several large sips of her wine. "You want to be an engineer?" She asked Skye.

Skye nodded. "Aerospace."

"Fascinating," said Mrs. Tifton. "It's certainly nice to see that those big dreams of yours haven't died yet."

Yet. As if she was expecting them to die eventually. As if she doubted that Skye could amount to any real success. Skye bristled but miraculously managed to bite back any comeback that would have been more ill-mannered than her chosen response: "I like to think them of them as goals more than dreams. I like to aim high."

"I remember that from the first time you were here," said Mrs. Tifton. "No fashion modeling for the Penderwick girls."

Jeffrey snorted and muttered "iconic" under his breath. He hid a smile behind his hand as his mother shot a venomous glower in his direction.

As amusing as this was, Skye had detected a shift in dynamic between the two of them. There was something more hostile about how Jeffrey was speaking to her – as if he no longer thought that being respectful or polite toward her was worth the effort. Skye didn't think that this was at all beneficial for improving Mrs. Tifton's opinion of Skye, or any of the Penderwicks for that matter. Mrs. Tifton thought that they were a bad influence on Jeffrey as it was.

"Where is Dexter anyway?" asked Skye. "That is, Mr. Dupree." It had been Jeffrey's then-soon-to-be stepfather who had suggested fashion modeling as a career choice for Rosalind, which Skye had taken to be quite the insult to her sister's intelligence. "He didn't want to catch up? I'm sure he's missed me just as much as you have," she said to Mrs. Tifton.

The tension in the room spiked instantly and astronomically, becoming almost palpable. Jeffrey's face was so pale he was almost green. Mrs. Tifton had become so stiff it looked as though the slightest movement would shatter her into a hundred pieces. She was staring at Jeffrey like she was waiting for him to explain something. When he didn't, she topped off her glass of wine and rose from her seat, successfully not breaking into pieces despite the sudden motion. She shifted her stare to Skye, her lips parted as though she was about to explain something herself, before ultimately changing her mind.

"Excuse me," said Mrs. Tifton. Her sharp tone only just fell short of masking the heavy emotion lacing her words. It was one that Skye couldn't quite place. She quickly retreated from the room and took the bottle of wine with her. That was more than a little concerning.

Once she could no longer hear Mrs. Tifton's heels echoing in the hallway, Skye, bewildered, said to Jeffrey: "What did I say? It's not a secret that she hates me, and I know I've said worse."

Jeffrey didn't say anything for a long time. His hands were folded in front of his face with his chin propped up by his thumbs. He stared pensively in front of him, and every so often, he tapped the knuckle of his index finger against his mouth in reflection of being lost in thought. Skye couldn't tell if he was holding back what he wanted to say, or if he had completely checked out of the conversation – if it could be called that. To Skye, he looked simultaneously like her classmates daydreaming in math class and like her father when he was steeling himself to be the bearer of bad news.

Skye didn't pressure him into responding. She stared intently at him in an attempt to read his blank expression. She found herself fleetingly wishing that Jane were there with her. Her sister could read people much better than Skye did.

It had probably only been a minute or two, but to Skye it felt like hours before at last, Jeffrey took his hands from his face and looked at her.

"Have you ever kept something a secret from somebody because you thought it might be a, um, an unfair burden for them if they knew?"

Alright, definitely holding back what he wanted to stay. Whatever Skye had been expecting him to say, it had not been that. She guarded herself against the bad news that he was undoubtedly about to share with her.

"You know I have."

Skye had been the first to find out that Alec McGrath was Jeffrey's father, and she had kept that from him until Alec was able to tell Jeffrey himself. It was the hardest thing Skye had ever had to do.

Jeffrey wrung his hands, just a little bit. It was hardly noticeable, but Skye had caught it. It made her anxious. Jeffrey began. "Earlier, when my mother was on the phone, I wasn't totally honest with you, or at least "open," I guess."

Skye sat up straight. That easily made her (and quite frankly, anybody else's) top five least favorite ways a person could start a conversation.

"She was talking to her lawyer because she filed for divorce."

"From Dexter?" It was a stupid question; Mrs. Tifton only had one husband. But shock could quickly turn one's brain to mush, and Skye's brain was mushier than it had ever been. Jeffrey nodded, but strangely, he didn't seem happy about it.

"Well, that's good isn't it?" Skye desperately hoped that Mrs. Tifton hasn't already found someone even more vile to replace Dexter.

"Yeah, it's just…" Jeffrey trailed off and ran a hand through his hair. Skye couldn't recall a time she'd seen him so fiercely battling nerves. "It's the reason why."

"Did something happen?" Again, a stupid question, but now alarm was mixed in with her initial shock, and this did not increase her brain's functional capacity.

Jeffrey's hands were shaking, and he laid his palms flat against the table to steady them. "He pushed me down the stairs."

Skye was on her feet. "What?" She nearly shrieked it. She stomped around in a furious circle, her hands on her hips, and inhaled deeply to try to calm herself. "What?" She repeated, quietly this time.

Still firmly seated, Jeffrey reached out and grabbed ahold of the crook of one of Skye's elbows. Gently, he pulled her back towards her chair. "Just wait," he said softly. "Please."

Skye sat. "Sorry."

"He ended up chasing after me, got me cornered up against the wall." Jeffrey shook his head as though the memory confused him. "Then he – well, let me back up."

Skye rested her hand on his forearm supportively. Jeffrey briefly skimmed his fingertips over the back of it like he was about to grab it, but instead, he pulled back and set his hand in his lap.

"I've been in such a mood lately," he admitted. "At that point we hadn't talked in, I don't know, a week? It was between your birthday and Batty's. My mother tried to tell me I couldn't go to Batty's party, and then she threw it in my face that you'd asked me to leave – God, I never should have told her. I don't know what I was thinking."

Guilt was not an emotion that Skye regularly experienced. She hardly ever had regrets, but that had been nearly a month prior. Jeffrey had been wrestling with becoming a victim of domestic violence while Skye had been wrestling with how to face his crush on her in an actually humane manner. What kind of a friend was she? It didn't matter that he hadn't told her; she should have known something was wrong. If she wasn't too busy being selfish, she would have.

"I was super fed up with everyone, and I said a bunch of stuff about Dexter to my mother and he heard me. Sorry, I should have led with that. That's what started this whole thing."

It was evident that Jeffrey didn't have practice talking about what had happened; nervousness was making his story jumbled. Skye was still following; she hadn't need to know why Dexter had suddenly turned abusive, it only mattered that he had in the first place. But whatever path Jeffrey needed to take to get everything out, Skye would be with him every step of the way.

"Anyway, like I said before, he cornered me and started kind of choking me with his arm and yelling. I don't even remember what he said, isn't that weird?"

Skye didn't think it was weird at all, but having never been in such a situation, she didn't want to disagree.

"I pushed him off though, and started running — I wanted to get out of here so bad — and he threw this big vase at me. My mother saw that part. She kicked him out right there."

Jeffrey pushed back his chair like he was going to stand, and Skye's hand fell from his arm. He remained seated, however, and leaned forward to drape his arms over his knees. He fidgeted with his fingers and stared hard at the floor.

Skye wasn't sure what she should say. Numerous variations of threats to dismember Dexter and burn the pieces were what first came to mind, but she decided against sharing them. Violence and murder probably weren't the best solutions for Jeffrey right then. Later, maybe, but not now.

Instead, she dragged her own chair over to him so she could slide an arm around his shoulders. Jeffrey looked over at her with a sad, subtle smile that was void of all humor.

"You don't have to do that." He gently unwrapped her arm from around him and placed it in her lap. "It's done, he's gone."

Skye was irritated by the tears that were pricking at the back of her eyelids. She refused to show any weakness in front of Jeffrey, not when he so needed her be strong. Still, it was difficult to fight. She didn't speak until she was certain that her voice would not betray her emotions.

"I hate that you went through that alone." Mrs. Tifton had been there, true, but Skye was well aware that he couldn't find sufficient support from his mother, even if she was trying.

Jeffrey shrugged. "It's not a big deal."

"Yes, it is!" Skye's response came on a little stronger than she had intended. "Jeffrey, look at me."

He did.

"You can always talk to me. Even if we're in a weird place. I'll always support you, okay? No matter what. You're my best friend first. Before anything else."

This was as direct as Skye knew how to be. It killed her that he hadn't felt comfortable to open up to her about what he'd been going through, and she knew it had been very much her own fault.

Skye spoke after a long silence, both her and Jeffrey looking down at their feet. "I feel bad about what I said." It was clear to her why Mrs. Tifton had reacted the way that she had, and Skye now realized that she actually had not said worse. The overall idiocy of her Dexter comment topped all the idiot things she had ever said to Jeffrey's mother. "I'm always running my mouth."

"You didn't know."

"Hopefully she knows that," said Skye. The more that she thought about it, the more embarrassed she felt.

"She probably thinks you're a cold-hearted bitch," Jeffrey said with a ghost of a laugh.

"Well, I am," Skye said with an improper level of pride accompanying her response. It was gone as quickly as it came, however, as she added: "Just not about, you know, abuse."

"I should have gone to Pencey," said Jeffrey. "Military me would have kicked his ass." He was only half-joking.

Skye laughed briefly before she said, "You could have anyway, you're just too nice."

"Maybe," Jeffrey grinned at her, which brought Skye a considerable amount of relief. "We'll go with that."

"Is this why she invited one of us here this weekend? Your mother?" Skye asked, abruptly returning to the hefty topic at hand. She felt strangely reassured about Mrs. Tifton's intentions. While unlike her sisters, she thought dungeons and starvation were a bit too medieval for Mrs. Tifton's taste, Skye had still been wary about what she possibly could have wanted. It had been the first time in over six years that Jeffrey's mother had so much as attempted to have any form of interaction with the Penderwick children.

"Mm hmm," answered Jeffrey. "She said she wants to "understand me better." She thinks we can be best friends all of the sudden because Dexter isn't around anymore. Which is ridiculous, of course. It's not that easy."

"You don't want to try?" Skye was surprised to find herself serving as Mrs. Tifton's advocate.

Jeffrey seemed to find this equally as confusing, also he didn't address it. He leaned back in his chair and replied, "She didn't love me before, she can't just start now because it's convenient and then expect me to be enthusiastic about it."

"You know that's not true." Skye was briefly reminiscent of the time Jeffrey had run away to escape prospective military academies and careers. Mrs. Tifton had shown up at the Penderwicks' cottage beside herself with worry, the kind that could only stem from a mother's love.

"Well, she doesn't know how to show it."

"She did ask for a divorce," Skye reminded him. Despite her own disdain for Mrs. Tifton, Skye knew that it wouldn't be the greatest for Jeffrey to develop an outright, hostile resentment towards his mother. "She loved Dexter and dropped him instantly because of you. A lot of people don't even get that far."

Jeffrey shook his head. "She's just guilty."

"Jeffrey, she loves you," Skye insisted.

"I guess," said Jeffrey. "But that still doesn't change anything. Dexter wasn't the only reason we don't get along. We still have a whole bunch of stuff to work through, even with him out of the picture. I don't know if we ever will."

"It's a start though, isn't it?"

"Yeah." Jeffrey smiled again, ever so slightly. "It's a start."


	6. Chapter 6

Jane held her fist out in front of her, wielding it like a flashlight as she surveilled the backyard. Her younger siblings stood a few feet in front of her, motionless like stone figures.

This was Ben's favorite game. Jane was acting as a night security guard, while Batty and Ben were museum statues sneaking up behind her. If she caught them moving, they were out. If they tagged, her she lost. Usually, it was Skye would played with him. It was the only game that she would agree to (it reminded her of the Weeping Angels from _Doctor Who_ ), but since she was at Arundel facing her romantic woes, it was Jane who had taken up the task.

She bent down in front of Batty and waved a hand over her face. Nothing. Her sister was as stone-faced as Mount Rushmore. Jane was about to resort to cracking jokes and making silly faces to break Batty (and therefore get Jane one step closer to winning the game – she was reigning champion), when she heard the clatter of the gate opening, then swinging shut. She turned her fist flashlight toward the intruder, but of course, it provided no light.

"Who dares approach the cave of wonders?" She called into the darkness. "Only the diamond in the rough may enter."

"It's Tommy."

"And a diamond in the rough you are!" Jane beamed.

Tommy stepped into the light emitted from the back porch, shaking his head at her. He had long ago given up trying to put a stop to Jane's endless stream of praises of him, and Jane suspected he'd never truly wanted them to stop anyway.

"Is Rosalind around?"

Jane's face alighted with hope. Could this be it? Was one of them finally making an effort toward reconciliation?

"Are you looking for her?"

"Looking to avoid her," said Tommy.

Alas, reconciliation was still not in the cards for the bitter ex-lovers.

If Tommy noticed the Jane's disappointment, he didn't let on. "I need your spare key. I locked myself out."

This was, admittedly, a very Geigerly move, and perhaps not the best thing to pave Rosalind and Tommy's path toward mending fences. Jane waved her younger sister toward the house.

"Batty, go and grab the key for him." Rosalind was in the kitchen cooking dinner, so Tommy retrieving the key for himself was out of the question. There was no need for a second undoubtedly disastrous interaction between him and the eldest Penderwick sister, especially so soon after the first.

Dutifully, Batty dropped from her statue-like pose to obey her sisters command.

"Ha!" Jane exclaimed gleefully. "You move, you lose."

Affronted, Batty stopped put her hands on her hips. "You didn't say we were still playing."

"I never said we weren't either," said Jane.

Batty stuck out her tongue before retreating into the kitchen.

"Dirty trick, Jane," said Tommy. "I call foul."

"No rules were broken," Jane said with an air of self-satisfaction. "My honor is still fully intact."

"How very Skye of you."

"Thank you." Jane bowed to demonstrate just how unoffended she was by his accusations.

"Skye really went to Arundel, huh?" Tommy didn't acknowledge Jane's theatrics.

Jane nodded.

"Finally fixing things with Jeffrey?"

Asimov peeked his head through the kitty door. He thought he'd heard his favorite visitor, and realizing that indeed he had, he wandered over to Tommy (careful not to seem to eager), and rubbed up against his legs, purring.

"That's the idea," Jane replied. Tommy scooped Asimov up with one hand and pulled the cat into his arms. He missed having Tommy around as much as the rest of the family. "But we'll have to see. She is sensitive with him right now."

"She told me about soaking up the universe."

This was Skye's favorite, yet feeble excuse for rejecting Jeffrey (despite what Jane described as years of built up sexual tension). To her, the universe was vastly more important than romance. Jane was growing impatient waiting for her sister to learn that they could, in fact, coexist.

"What about you?" Jane turned the conversation to her other sister's destined, yet wounded relationship. "When are you and Rosalind going to make up?"

Tommy glanced toward the house where he could see Rosalind busying herself with dinner preparations. "I'd be happy just to have a conversation again, but that's up to her."

Not for the first time, Jane's heart broke for him. She took a step closer to Tommy so she could nudge him with her elbow. "She'll come around you know."

This was not the first time that it had seemed like the end of Rosalind and Tommy. Jane knew better than they did that sooner or later, they would realize they couldn't live apart from each other, and this breakup would be over. Jane had written a speech for their wedding when she was only ten years old.

"I don't know, Jane." Tommy wasn't convinced. "She can hardly even look at me."

"Because she's still in love with you," Jane promised. "To gaze upon the face of her former flame serves only to reignite the fury of her perpetual heartache."

Tommy set Asimov back onto the grass, who flicked his tail in disappointment before a dancing firefly caught his attention and he forgot his reproach.

"Yeah, well," said Tommy, unimpressed by Jane's sentiments. " _She_ broke up with _me_."

Jane waved away his concerns. "The head does not always know what the heart wants."

Tommy was saved from responding by Ben, who had been slowly creeping up behind Jane for several minutes. He leaped onto her and triumphantly shouted, "I win!"

"We're taking a break, silly," said Jane.

Ben crossed his arms and hunched his shoulders in an objection. "You never said we stopped playing."

Tommy laughed. "He's got you there."

"Rats," said Jane. "Alright, you win."

Ben jumped into the air and pumped his fist victoriously. "Bye Tommy!"

"See ya, goofball," said Tommy as Ben ran off to tell Iantha that he was the winner.

Batty returned with Tommy's key, after taking a suspiciously long time to locate it. Jane suspected she had gotten caught up helping Rosalind with dinner. Or maybe distracting her from Tommy; Batty was so wise for her age. She handed the key to him before saying to Jane, "Rosalind said that you should come inside now because dinner is almost ready."

"Want to come?" Jane invited Tommy, although she was not too optimistic about his answer.

Tommy shook his head. "Not tonight. Maybe once Rosalind has her head and her heart sorted out." He held up the key. "Thanks."

"What was that about?" Batty asked once the backyard was empty of Geigers boys.

"He wants Rosalind back."

Tommy hadn't said this of course, but Jane knew him well enough to know that that was just what he'd meant.

* * *

Skye and Jeffrey were back in Jeffrey's room. Mrs. Tifton had yet to return from her emotional flight from Arundel Hall, and Churchie had gone after her. They were alone, despite dinner's heavy conversation, they had managed to steer themselves toward more lighthearted subjects. Jeffrey was the most adamant about moving on from it, and from Dexter. The D-word hadn't been spoken in almost two hours.

Skye flipped through the many brochures and enrollment packets from Julliard that were neatly stacked on Jeffrey's desk. He was sitting at his piano and playing the opening notes of Elton John's "Rocket Man." As a passionate piano player, Jeffrey, naturally, worshipped the Rocket Man himself.

Skye watched him, filled with pride that he was well on the way of fulfilling his lifelong dream. When he reached the song's chorus, Skye absentmindedly sang the words as she returned to reading about his school.

"'A _nd I think it's gonna be a long long time, till touchdown brings me 'round again'_ — what?"

Jeffrey had stopped playing. He spun around to look at her. "You know the song?"

Skye's jaw dropped in outrage. What little faith he had in her musical catalog! "It's not like its obscure."

"But it's just the piano—" The surprise was still clear on his face.

"Jeffrey," said Skye. "You listen to no one else. Of course I can do that."

Jeffrey laughed. It was true; his playlists were at least ninety percent Elton John, but he harbored no shame. Skye followed these playlists on Spotify, and though she would never tell Jeffrey, she listened frequently.

"I could recognize any of his songs," said Skye. "Easy."

"Is that a challenge?" Jeffrey's hands hovered over the keys as he positioned them to take her up on it.

"It's a promise. Bring it on, loser."

Jeffrey smirked at her as if to say that she had her work cut out for her, but Skye was confident. He'd converted her into a bit of a fan herself. He played only a few spurts of notes before Skye cut him off after immediately recognizing the melody.

"You're going to have to do better than "Tiny Dancer" if you expect to beat me," Skye scoffed. "I don't live under a rock."

Jeffrey let out a short snort of laughter. "So you really think you're quite the expert."

"I know I am," promised Skye. "You play "Your Song" next, you die."

Needless to say, that is precisely what he did. Skye beat him over the head with a few of his Julliard pamphlets, and Jeffrey poked at her stomach to stop her. She conceded, far too ticklish to fend off such an attack. Jeffrey turned back to the piano.

It took Skye only a moment to place the song. It was one of her favorites. Proudly but significantly offkey, she sang:

_"Don't wish it away_   
_Don't look at it like its forever_   
_Between you and me I can honestly say_   
_That things will only get better"_

Jeffrey didn't continue with the next verse, but Skye sang on without the music.

_"And while I'm away_   
_Dust out the demons inside_   
_And it won't be long—"_

"You can stop," said Jeffrey pleadingly. Skye did not possess the same talent for singing that Batty had developed. She was straight up awful. She hardly knew what a tune even was, let alone how to carry one, but that didn't stop her.

_"Before you and me run_   
_To the place in our hearts where we hide"_

Jeffrey clapped his hands over his ears to drown out Skye's screeching singing, but she only sang louder, and her voice only grew more screechy.

_"AND I GUESS THAT'S WHY THEY CALL IT THE BLUUES_   
_TIME ON MY HANDS COULD BE TIME SPENT WITH YOUU"_

Skye pointed dramatically at Jeffrey, who grinned and couldn't help but join in for the remainder of the chorus.

_"LAUGHING LIKE CHILDREN, LIVING LIKE LOVERS_   
_ROLLING LIKE THUN-DA UNDER THE COVERS_   
_AND I GUESS THAT'S WHY THEY CAAALL IT THE BLUUUESS"_

Skye flopped backwards onto Jeffrey's bed with her arms outstretched, out of breath and exhausted from such an enthusiastic rendition of the song. Jeffrey fell onto the bed beside her and landed on Skye's left arm. She yanked it out from under him, and smacked herself in the face. Jeffrey erupted into a fit of laughter. Skye didn't do well with anyone making fun of her, so she tickled him to exact her revenge. He escaped her wriggling fingers but rolled just a bit too far. He fell off the bed.

This was significantly more embarrassing than hitting yourself, so Skye cackled uncontrollably. Jeffrey lay flat on his back, convulsing as he laughed and laughed until he was red in the face.

Then it was quiet again and Jeffrey sat up and leaned back against the leg of his desk. "I missed you, Skye," he said.

Skye had missed him too, as much as she hated to admit it. Especially moments like these. But he was treading dangerously close to a certain off limits topic. He was making her nervous.

"Me too," said Skye. "I mean, I also missed you. As well."

Jeffrey smiled. It wasn't the wide, infectious grin that Skye was partial to, but a lopsided, almost sad smile that begged the question 'how did we get here?' after so many years.

"My mother seems to be more okay with us," said Jeffrey after a long pause.

Skye sat up abruptly on the mattress. Us? What us? There was no us. Jeffrey seemed to notice her sudden unease, for he hurried on. "Us being friends. And not just you, all of your siblings too. And she hasn't said anything about how she doesn't think you're good enough for me – I mean, you as in your family, and me as in being friends…"

He was rambling, and soon realized that he was making things worse by trying to fix it, so he stopped talking and watched Skye anxiously.

She was silent for quite some time. They had been doing so well. Why did he have to ruin it with his stupid words and stupid nerves and stupid feelings?

"Did you tell Churchie?" Skye asked quietly. "Did you ask her to talk to me?"

"What?"

Skye wasn't going to be fooled by his feigned ignorance. "You really thought I wouldn't notice? She was interrogating me about boys."

Jeffrey tapped his head repeatedly against the leg of his desk. He glowered up at the ceiling. "I knew that was going to set you off."

He sounded impatient, as if not everyone would be upset by a blatant intrusion into their privacy. How many times did this cycle have to repeat itself before he took the damn hint?

"Set me off? Oh okay. _Wow_."

"Wow what, Skye?" Jeffrey threw up his hands in frustration. "You have nothing to be upset about."

"Really? Nothing? You shouldn't have told her, of course I'm fucking upset."

Jeffrey ran his hand down the side of his face, exasperated. "I didn't say anything to her, okay? I didn't."

"Then explain all her questions."

"I don't know, curiosity? It's a common thing to ask."

Skye didn't respond. She looked away from Jeffrey with her jaw set in a stubborn line.

Jeffrey continued. "I didn't like it any more than you did. Do you not get how awkward that was for me? I fucking hated it. It's humiliating."

To herself, Skye muttered, "You should have thought of that before."

Jeffrey wasn't meant to hear, but he did. "You've got to be kidding me." He didn't sound angry, more like he couldn't believe what she'd said. "I thought you wanted to fix this. Isn't that why you're here?"

"It is." And also because Jane was a conniving, meddlesome, no good bitch.

"I'm tired of having this same fight with you," said Jeffrey.

"So I am."

"You sure? Because it seems like you're looking for reasons to be mad. I haven't done anything."

Skye jumped to her feet, so furious that her chest hurt. "You did _everything_ , Jeffrey. I'm not comfortable around you anymore. Whenever I let myself be, you ruin it all over again."

Jeffrey stood as well. He looked Skye dead in the eye. She wanted to break eye contact, but she refused to be the one to cower away from the uncomfortableness. "Skye, I haven't pushed anything on you, and I won't, but you don't want to believe that. If we can't see each other without fighting about this, then, honestly, I'm done. I don't want to waste my time if you're going to keep being paranoid."

"I am not paranoid," Skye snapped.

Jeffrey rolled his eyes. "Right. Okay."

Skye narrowed her own eyes. If he was going to give her an attitude, fine. She wasn't going to stick around to deal with it.

"Really? Where are you going?" Jeffrey demanded as she walked out of the room.

"I need a minute." Skye slammed the door behind her. Her face was hot. She needed to kick something. Or to yell. The bookshelf by the staircase would have been excellent for kicking, not wanting to clean up the resulting mess, Skye decided against that option. Yelling would have to do. She didn't want to yell at Jeffrey either. She was just as sick of the fighting as he was. She opted for the best alternative: Jane.

Skye ran down three flights of stairs before calling her unsuspecting younger sister. She fell into a chair in one of Arundel's many rooms, out of breath.

"Howdy," said Jane. She answered the call after only the second ring.

"Do you have to interfere with everything in my life?" Skye nearly bellowed into the phone.

"Oh boy. What happened?" Jane had never been one to shy away from Skye's temper. She sounded both disappointed and like she was about to laugh.

"What do you think happened?" Skye hissed into the phone. "I told you he wasn't ready."

"And I told you that it was _you_ who wasn't ready, not Jeffrey," Jane said coolly. "I don't believe Jeffrey would try declaring his undying love for you again, he knows that won't work."

There was a very long pause. Skye chewed on her lower lip, embarrassed. "He didn't declare it."

"Oh?" Jane did not seem surprised. "So he asked you out again?"

"Not explicitly."

"SKYE!"

"What?" Skye asked defensively. "He hasn't gotten over it. I can tell. And I can't be around him while he's like that."

"You mean you won't," Jane corrected. "You could if you wanted to."

"Same thing. And he called me paranoid. If he's going to disrespect how I feel—"

"Disrespect how you feel? Funny that sounds like what you're doing to him. Except worse."

Skye ignored her. "If he's going to disrespect how I feel, then what's the point of being here at all?"

Skye truly did not want to be there anymore. She wanted to put as much distance between her and Arundel as she could. That way she wouldn't have to deal with Jeffrey's wretched crush any longer. The west coast sounded good right about now. What Skye wouldn't give to be in California right then, studying the stars and mathematics without even a passing thought about romance and boys.

"You're not leaving are you?"

Leaving seemed like an excellent idea to Skye. "I think I might." She rose out of her seat.

"No. Skye, you can't."

"Of course I can," argued Skye. "This is all your fault. I never should have come at all."

"Yes you should have," said Jane. "I know of what I speak."

"You don't!" Skye shouted. "I'm the one who knows the best way to deal with this. It's my life!"

"You're being stupid," Jane shouted back.

"I don't care; I'm coming home."

"Well I hope protecting your ego is worth the end of your closest friendship," Jane quipped.

Skye froze, mid-step, on the way to the front door.

Encouraged by her silence, Jane softened her tone and went on. "If you leave now, you'll never talk to him again. You have to know that."

Skye didn't want to, but she did know it. Just like she knew that it would kill her. She sat back down, defeated. "You're right."

"You haven't even tried understand what this has been like for him. I'm not saying you have to go out with him—"

"Good."

"But you have to give him time. And make sure he knows you still care. You do, right?"

"JANE!"

"Sorry. It's hard to tell these days, you know."

Guilt knotted Skye's stomach. Jane was right, as per usual. Shit. "I should apologize, shouldn't I?"

"Yes," said Jane emphatically. "Now. Chop chop."

"Okay, okay. I'm going." A lighter tone crept into Skye's voice. She felt considerably better. "Thanks, Jane."

"You're welcome," said Jane. "Be off with you."

With that, Skye hung up and headed down the hall to talk to Jeffrey.

* * *

Jeffrey had considered going after Skye, but too much of his time had been spent chasing her down so he could explain himself. Instead, he would wait for her to calm down so they could just forget about it, and preferably act like nothing had happened. They had been doing so well. He scolded himself for forgetting to warn Churchie away from any questions about dating or boyfriends.

He had heard Skye talking loudly downstairs, but he chose not to try and listen in on the conversation. He was confident that he could guess what she was saying.

When nearly fifteen minutes had gone by and Skye had still not returned, Jeffrey started to get nervous. She wouldn't leave would she? Not without at least texting him. He glanced at his phone to be sure. Nothing. He decided that if another ten minutes passed, he would go after her.

But soon, his plans were blown to bits by Skye's earsplitting, terrified scream.


	7. Chapter 7

There are those who are inclined to scream in response to life’s daily, minute problems, say, a spider in their hair. Skye was not this type of person, and this was not this type of scream.

Jeffrey scrambled to his feet so quickly that he lost his balance and nearly fell back to the floor. He tried to call out to Skye, but her name lodged in his throat as fear closed tight around his airway. He threw open his bedroom door and raced for the staircase. His mind was racing, but he was unable to form a coherent thought.

There was a loud crash, followed by the sound of something shattering. He could hear Skye knocking things over as she ran through the house. He struggled to unlock his phone as he clamored frantically down the steps.

“JEFFREY!” Skye shrieked. “GET OUT! R—agh!” She was cut off by a sharp cry of pain, and then everything fell silent. He was on the second floor now.

Jeffrey wouldn’t run. At least not away, he certainly was running to Skye. He pressed his phone to his ear. Why wasn’t it ringing? Time all but stood still while he waited impatiently for the operator to pick up.

“911, what is your emergency?”

“I think there’s someone in my house,” Jeffrey said breathlessly as he made it to the bottom of the stairs.

Skye’s voice had sounded like it was coming from the kitchen, and Jeffrey ran towards it at full speed (which was difficult to do with so much furniture to maneuver around).

“Stay where you are. What is your current address?”

Jeffrey, naturally, did not stay where he was. He had heard it on tv before, but he was astonished by how calm the operator remained. “Eleven Staffor—” Jeffrey reached the kitchen and abruptly stopped speaking. His blood froze in his veins.

Someone indeed was in his house. A man clad in all black, sporting a black ski mask stood behind Skye with a large kitchen knife held against her throat. His second hand was clamped over her mouth; his fingers dug into her cheeks so he could maintain a tight grip.

“Hang up the phone, Jeffrey,” the man whispered menacingly. He yanked Skye’s head back, his hand still clapped over her lips. She whimpered as he pressed the knife deeper into her neck. “Now.”

Even though he could hardly hear it, Jeffrey immediately recognized his voice. Shaking, he took a deep breath to calm himself enough to – miraculously – speak normally.

“Actually false alarm. It was the housekeeper. I’m sorry.”

“Would you like me to send a squad car? Just to be sure?”

“No.” It killed Jeffrey to say it. He hoped he hadn’t sounded too adamant. “I’m sorry I wasted your time. Have a good night.” He hung up.

“You try to run, I kill her. You speak, I kill her,” said Dexter, for of course, that was who the man was. “Put your phone on the table.”

Jeffrey did. He stepped back and slowly lifted his hands to surrender to his stepfather. He could hardly hear Dexter’s next command over his pounding heart and the blood rushing to his ears.

“On your knees.”

Jeffrey knelt, holding eye contact with Skye the whole time. She struggled against Dexter and shouted something into his hand, something like “no” or “run.”

Once Jeffrey had put his hands behind his head like he was told to do, Dexter dropped the knife from Skye’s throat and flung her to the ground. He slid the knife into a black backpack that was resting on a chair behind him, trading it in for a handgun. Skye was climbing to her feet, but Dexter kicked her back down. Jeffrey bit his tongue to keep himself from shouting at Dexter. He noticed that Skye had spit a roll of socks out of her mouth. Dexter pointed the gun at Jeffrey’s face. He did his best to appear unaffected, but staring down the barrel of the gun was just as daunting as he would have imagined it to be.

“No!” Skye jumped in front of Jeffrey, her arm outstretched so that she could cover the gun’s muzzle with her palm. “Don’t kill him. Please.”

Jeffrey thought this was quite possibly the first time he had ever heard Skye say please. He clamped his teeth further into his tongue. All he wanted was to beg her to get out of the way.

Dexter chuckled. “I won’t if you do what I tell you. Can you?”

Skye nodded. Jeffrey re-laced his fingers tightly behind his head. His sweaty hands were slipping and becoming unclasped. Dexter handed Skye a pair of handcuffs. He slung his backpack over his shoulder and stepped closer to Jeffrey. With his gun, he indicated that Skye should cuff Jeffrey’s hands.

Jeffrey’s heart beat faster. If Dexter truly did want to kill him – that did appear to be the case – why didn’t he just shoot him there and be done with it?

Skye turned to face Jeffrey, her face contorted with fright and with despair.

“Behind him,” said Dexter, lazily. He leaned against the wall behind Jeffrey as though this whole abduction business bored him a great deal. Still, he never let the gun slip away from Jeffrey’s head.

“Jef—” Skye’s lip trembled, and she couldn’t finish whispering his name. Ever so gently, she twisted each of his arms behind his back and reached around him to latch the cuffs around his wrists.

Dexter leaned forward to take a look. “Hmph,” he scoffed. “No. Tighter.”

Skye exhaled sharply in part protest, part disbelief. Her hand was still wrapped around his right wrist, and Jeffrey stretched his fingers up to brush them over her arm. She would blame herself for this, but Jeffrey knew, rather, he had brought this on her. The cuffs pinched his skin as she tightened them, just enough to restrict the circulation to his hands. He sucked in air between his teeth in response to the sudden pain.

Skye flinched; she was about to apologize. Jeffrey shook his head to discourage her. “Don’t.” His plea was so quiet it sounded like no more than a breath. Skye scrunched up her face, fighting back tears, before pulling it together again and donning a more stoic expression.

This time, when Dexter reached into his backpack of endless horrors, he pulled out a brown leather dog collar. He tossed it between Skye and Jeffrey, and it slid into Skye’s bended knees. Jeffrey only looked at it for a half-second. He took a shaky breath. His vision was blackening at the edges, and he blinked away the threatening darkness.

Skye knotted her fingers in her hair, her lips were parted in horror. Her chest heaved as she fought against hyperventilation.

“Well,” Dexter said impatiently. “Put it on him.”

Skye shook her head vigorously and blinked away tears. “Please, no. Please.”

“I don’t have all night!” Dexter snarled.

Skye stiffened and reached out to rub her hands over Jeffrey’s arms. She turned to Dexter, and Jeffrey saw that, fleetingly, the fear was gone from Skye’s face and replaced by her usual strong-willed, fiery temper. All pleading was gone from her voice, although it was still saturated with intense emotion. “I will not help you hurt him.”

Dexter snorted. He pushed himself off the wall. “Alright.” He cocked his gun and pressed it against Jeffrey’s temple. It was cool against his skin. “I’ll kill him.”

“NO!” Perhaps unwisely, Skye knocked the gun away from Jeffrey. Briefly, Dexter froze in what Jeffrey could only take as surprise. Jeffrey smiled at the ground, momentarily relieved, but then Dexter smacked Skye across the face with the butt of his gun.

“Stupid bitch!” He spat. “I’m going to count to five. One…TWO…”

“Okay!” Skye frantically waved her hands to get him to stop. She picked the collar up and unhooked it.

Jeffrey took the risk. He spoke. “Don’t hurt her, okay? Leave her out of this.”

Despite the ski mask, Jeffrey felt as if he could see Dexter’s smirk (Lord knew he’d seen it enough times already). When he didn’t respond, Jeffrey’s heart lurched. Skye lifted the collar toward him, but paused. Jeffrey could clearly see that her hands were shaking.

“It’s okay,” he whispered softly. He gave her a small smile, but it was less reassuring than he had hoped. 

She pressed a fist to her mouth and stifled an oncoming sob. She breathed in deeply through her nose, dropped her hand, and exhaled.

“For the love of god,” Dexter complained. He snatched the collar from Skye and fastened it around Jeffrey’s neck himself. He pulled the end through the buckle as far as it would allow him, then slid the prong through the small hole in the leather. It wasn’t enough to legitimately choke him, but the pressure against his throat was uncomfortable. Jeffrey was conscious of every breath. He slipped a padlock through the buckle, which locked with a thunderous click.

When Dexter had finished, he clipped a leash to the collar and yanked it to test it out. Jeffrey’s head was thrown back and he fell backward onto his cuffed hands. He reflexively tried to reach for the collar to pull it away from his neck – now the collar _was_ choking him – but of course, his hands were still firmly bound behind him.

Skye jumped to his aid. She grabbed the leash and pulled desperately in the opposite direction as Dexter. Jeffrey breathed heavily to recover. Dexter let go and Skye stumbled back. She pulled Jeffrey with her and hugged him against her. He wanted to hug her back, but since that wasn’t possible, he nuzzled his face into her shoulder and squeezed his eyes shut to fight against his overpowering urge to cry.

“How cute.” Dexter was laughing at them, but quite frankly, Jeffrey didn’t care. Dexter held a thick blue ribbon out to Skye. “Gag him.” He pointed at the roll of socks that she had earlier spat onto the floor. “With that.”

Jeffrey’s breathing was rapid and shallow. He wasn’t sure if it was from the collar still ever so slightly constricting his airway, or if it was from the increasing panic clawing inside his chest. Skye squeezed him tighter and balled his shirt into her fists.

“Why?” Skye spoke into Jeffrey’s neck. “He won’t say anything.”

“I already told him not to speak,” Dexter said. “And he did.”

Skye sniffed quietly to hide her crying. Dexter wouldn’t be able to hear it, but Jeffrey could. “Don’t make me do this.”

“Get. On. It.” Dexter enunciated each word with great irritation.

Skye pulled back from Jeffrey with tears spilling down her cheeks.

“Skye, it’s alright,” Jeffrey murmured. He nodded, just slightly, to encourage her to pick up the socks. Skye wiped her tears and straightened herself up, clinching her teeth the way she so often did when holding back an impressive string of murderous words. Skye made it difficult for him to, but Jeffrey caught her eye as she tenderly pulled his jaws apart.

He had fully intended on letting her gag him without any sort of difficulty, but as the socks grazed against his lips, he turned his head to the side. If he let Dexter take Skye without even trying to stop him, he would never forgive himself.

Skye flinched away from him and squeaked in a very un-Skye-like manner. Jeffrey glanced back at her apologetically, hoping that she understood nothing was her fault.

Jeffrey looked straight into Dexter’s eyes; his head still turned away from Skye. “If you’re going to kill me, fine. Just leave her here.” Somehow, Jeffrey managed to sound matter-of-fact, as if fear wasn’t shredding his insides.

“Jeffrey, wha—? Shut up.” Skye was appalled, and Jeffrey briefly broke eye contact with Dexter to look back at Skye. Her eyes were wide, and almost a bit threatening, as if to say that if Dexter didn’t kill him, she would.

Jeffrey held her gaze to tell her that no, he was not going to shut up. “She doesn’t know anything. I know who you are, she doesn’t. You can let her go.”

Dexter snorted. “Aren’t you sweet. But I don’t want to.”

“I won’t fight you,” Jeffrey promised, looking back at him. His voice raised with desperation. “Do whatever you want to me. I won’t fight or try to run, but please, let h—”

To Jeffrey’s irritation (though not total surprise), Skye rammed the socks into his mouth and cut him off. Fuck her loyalty. He tried to shake off her hand, but she kept it glued over his face.

“Stop. STOP!” Skye begged him not to struggle against her. “Please.”

Jeffrey listened, and he stopped. How could he not? The anguish in her voice was not ignorable.

Skye tied the blue ribbon over his mouth to keep the socks securely trapped between his teeth. They were cold and damp with Skye’s saliva. As she knotted the ribbon behind his head, she whispered in his ear, “You’re not going through this alone, Jeffrey Tifton.”

“You two are so fucking noble it’s disgusting,” Dexter scoffed.

Skye’s hands lingered on the sides of Jeffrey’s face. She stroked his cheekbone with her thumb. Jeffrey bit down on the sock roll to keep it from slipping down his throat. Skye felt his jaw clench and her fingers feathered along the underside of it.

“What do you want with him?” Skye asked Dexter hoarsely.

“Wait and see, sweetheart,” he answered forebodingly.

“Go to hell.” Skye’s voice trembled.

Dexter pulled her away from Jeffrey, who lost all hope he’d had that Dexter just might let her go. Dexter zip-tied Skye’s hands in front of her, then instructed her to stand. Jeffrey he forced to with a solid yank on the leash around his neck. Dexter prodded Skye in the back with his gun so she would start walking. He and Jeffrey followed close behind.

There was a car parked outside. Dexter had driven it right over Mrs. Tifton’s beloved, manicured lawn. On purpose, Jeffrey was sure of it. The car’s trunk was popped open. Dexter shoved Jeffrey to the ground, and he rolled over in the grass several times before settling on his face. He shifted onto his side, and then Dexter stepped on the leash to prevent him from standing. He pulled a second roll of socks out of his bag and pulled Skye into him.

Jeffrey protested loudly, but his gag muffled it to no more than a pitiful “mmph.”

Dexter gagged Skye as well, but rather than using a ribbon, he tied a pillowcase over her face. He pulled it so tight Jeffrey could make out every detail of her facial structure. Roughly, Dexter forced Skye into the trunk. Her head knocked against the car as she fell inside. Dexter rolled her onto her stomach, so she lay flat on top her restrained arms. Then, he turned on Jeffrey.

“Get in,” he ordered Jeffrey, yanking him forward.

Jeffrey climbed inside with his heart thudding even louder. Could Skye breathe with her face swathed in fabric?

Dexter zip-tied his ankles, binding them so tightly that the bones ground against each other. “Enjoy the long drive,” Dexter mocked.

He slammed the trunk shut.

* * *

Rosalind had had a good day, so good in fact, that he sight of Tommy Geiger in the backyard had done little to dampen her spirits. What did she care if he talked to Jane, anyway?

She had prepared spaghetti bolognese for dinner. She followed the recipe in her mother’s cookbook (where she so often looked for inspiration in the kitchen), and was in such high spirits that she even made the sauce from scratch.

“It smells delicious, Rosy,” said Jane as she slid the backdoor shut behind her after ending a phone call that could only have been with Skye.

“Was that Tommy earlier?” Rosalind asked, attempting to sound nonchalant. She hadn’t meant to say anything, but it had slipped out before she could stop herself. Damn her curiosity.

“You know it was,” said Jane slyly.

To Rosalind’s dismay, she winked. She would not entertain such an obvious attempt to provoke her. “What did he want?”

“His house key,” said Batty. “He locked himself out.” She pulled a stack of plates out of a cupboard and began to set the table.

Rosalind thanked her for helping, then added, “Brilliant of him as always.”

She felt a sudden pang of nostalgia as she remembered the last time he had done that. She and Tommy had walked home from Cameron High School together and were the first from both of their families to return home for the evening. Rosalind had teased Tommy mercilessly when he had realized he had forgotten his keys in his locker. They weren’t allowed to be alone in the Penderwick’s home (Mr. Penderwick didn’t trust any fifteen year old boys around his daughters, even if the boy was Tommy), and so Rosalind had sat with him on the Geigers' front porch for more than an hour until his mother came home. Tommy had spent that time trying (in vain) to teach her to catch goldfish in her mouth, but it had mostly resulted in him pelting her face with the crackers.

Rosalind smiled sadly at the memory in spite of herself. She gave the bolognese sauce one final stir before shutting off the burner.

“Jane, go tell Daddy and Iantha dinner is ready.”

As the rest of the family piled into the kitchen, Rosalind dished the noodles and sauce into serving bowls and placed them at the center of the table, along with a large bowl of Caesar salad and a plate of garlic bread. She took a quick peek at Batty’s place settings and nodded approvingly.

Her father settled Lydia into her highchair and handed her sippy cup to her, and she drank from it enthusiastically. Iantha wandered in next and simultaneously scribbled a few final notes on a student essay, supported by a spiral notebook in her hand. She had been going insane grading papers for the past week.

“Tell me you’re a brighter college student than mine seem to be, Rosalind,” said Iantha. She slapped the notebook onto the counter and reached into the cabinet for a wine glass. “Do you want any, Martin?” She held up a glass so that Mr. Penderwick would know what she was referring to.

He did, and Iantha poured them both some white wine. Rosalind filled cups with water for her siblings and her before taking a seat at the table and proudly surveying her masterpiece of a meal.

“No rocks at the table,” Iantha scolded Ben, who had set his newest addition to his collection beside his plate. Ben sheepishly pulled the rock into his lap.

Iantha handed Mr. Penderwick his glass and sat down next to Lydia.

“BEN!” Lydia squealed, bouncing in her highchair excitedly. “HI BEN!”

Ben only scooted his chair farther away from her. He was already quite purposefully seated at the opposite end of the table. Lydia was poor Ben’s greatest inconvenience. Iantha shushed Lydia and fed her small slivers of noodles and pieces of lettuce.

“How’s the studying going, Jane?” Mr. Penderwick asked as he scooped spaghetti onto his plate before he passed the bowl to Rosalind, who was on his right.

“It’s a nightmare,” Jane said with a heavy sigh. “A blight on my life, my complete undoing.”

Rosalind thought that if Jane had spent more time in math class learning the material instead of thinking about her latest book, it might have gone more smoothly for her. But it was no use trying to change Jane’s habits; Rosalind had learned long ago that when Jane’s imagination was working, there was no switching it off. Certainly not for math class. Pre-calculus had not been Rosalind’s favorite either, she had to admit. Skye and Iantha were the only mathematicians in the family – Rosalind had happily chosen a major with minimal mathematical requirements.

Rosalind reassured Jane, despite all that. “You’ll do fine, I promise.”

Jane only hmphed in response and stuffed garlic bread eagerly into her mouth.

Rosalind was about to ask Batty about her singing competition – she knew so little, apart from the fact that there was one happening at all – when the phone rang. Rosalind stood to look at the caller ID: Brenda Tifton. That was odd. Skye had only been at Arundel for a few hours (six at the most), could she already have offended Mrs. Tifton so much that it warranted a call to their father? Rosalind frowned. It was possible. Sending Skye as the first to get reacquainted with Jeffrey’s mother may not have been the wisest of Penderwick family decisions.

“It’s Mrs. Tifton,” she said, and held out the receiver for someone – anyone – else to grab. “I do not want to talk to her.”

“Nose goes!” Jane shouted, touching her finger to the tip of her nose. Batty and Ben (who was not at risk of having to speak to Mrs. Tifton either way) followed suit. Even Mr. Penderwick dropped his fork and put his hand to his nose, and pushed his glasses back up while he was at it. This left Iantha as the unfortunate victim.

“Sorry,” said Rosalind, not at all sorry. As long as she didn’t have to answer, Rosalind was happy. Sacrificing Iantha was a necessary casualty.

“Oh hell,” said Iantha, standing and taking the phone from Rosalind. Her other hand was still firmly clasped around her glass of wine because heavens knew she would need it.

“Mommy said a bad word!” Ben was thoroughly distressed by this. “Always say ‘heck,’” he lowered his voice. “Instead of ‘h-e-double-hockey-sticks.’”

Rosalind smiled at her little brother but put a finger to her lips to quiet him as Iantha answered the phone.

“Hello? … No, this is Iantha. Martin’s wife…” Iantha’s tone suddenly became serious. “He is. Is everything alright?”

Two things happened next. The first was Iantha letting out an agonized shriek and stumbling back into the counter. The second was the glass slipping from her hand and shattering. Wine sprayed all across the tile floor.

Mr. Penderwick adopted an air of frighteningly tranquil authority as he said, “Batty, take Ben and Lydia upstairs.”

“But—” Batty was white with fear, and Ben had started to cry. Lydia remained blissfully unphased.

“Now.”

Batty listened with no further protests. Rosalind looked back at Iantha who was both as white as Batty while also turning a concerning shade of green. Rosalind herself felt sick, although she had yet to discover why she should.

“We’ll be right there,” Iantha said. Her face was glazed over with shock. She hung up without another word and let the phone fall to the floor as well. It cracked open and batteries rolled into the puddle of wine.

“What’s wrong? What happened?” Mr. Penderwick demanded. He was fall less calm now that the youngest were gone from the room.

“It’s Skye.” Iantha turned toward Mr. Penderwick, but her eyes, brimming with tears, seemed still unable to focus on anything in front of her. “Someone…someone took…” Iantha could hardly get the words out. “Skye and Jeffrey were kidnapped.”


	8. Chapter 8

It took a while for Rosalind to process what Iantha had said. Jane and their father, on the other hand, seemed to understand perfectly. Jane's hands were covering her mouth, which had dropped open in horror, and tears were streaming through her fingers. Mr. Penderwick stood so abruptly that his chair tipped backwards and crashed to the floor with a loud bang.

"Kidnapped?" Mr. Penderwick repeated. "Is she sure? Maybe she made a mistake, they could have just left for —"

Mr. Penderwick stopped when Iantha shook her head, swaying dangerously on her feet. "No. She's sure."

Rosalind could hear her father asking Iantha further questions, each more desperate than the last, but she couldn't concentrate on what was being said. The lights were growing increasingly brighter; her vision blurred like she was looking through a rainy windshield. The kitchen was too hot.

Rosalind pushed past Iantha and ignored her father calling after her as she ran outside. Once in the backyard, Rosalind gulped at the night air, but found she still wasn't satisfied. She needed to leave, anywhere else would be a better place for her to be. She rushed to the backyard's gate and struggled briefly with the latch (which she never had before), then took off running. She sprinted down to the stop sign at the end of Gardam Street. Her bare feet smacked hard against the pavement, but she didn't care. She welcomed the pain; it was one she could understand. It was real. Someone abducting her sister could not be.

At the sign, she turned and started to run back toward her home, but after only a few steps, she slowed to a walk. She was now unable to breathe, her chest had tightened around her lungs and kept them from expanding. It wasn't from running. Tears spilled out the corner of her eyes and rolled down her cheeks incessantly, one after another after another.

No. There was no way this was happening. Skye and Jeffrey could be missing for any number of other, mundane reasons; she was sure of it. Maybe they truly had eloped, as Jane had earlier predicted. Yes, that was it.

Her feet carried her back home on their own accord; Rosalind had no recollection of how she had gotten there. She stood outside her house, her mind was numb. She couldn't think, and she would not return home until she had gained at least a little perspective.

Her gaze wandered across the street to the Geiger's house, and Rosalind found that that was precisely where she had wanted to go all along. For the first time since their breakup, she didn't think twice about their extensive history or the fact that she hadn't had a decent conversation with Tommy in weeks. To hell with all of that.

Rosalind ran up the Geiger's front porch and pounded on their door with her fist. Her tears were falling even faster now, and she felt snot dripping from her nose and coating her upper lip. To hell with that too.

"Tommy!" She shouted. She knocked harder, even kicked at it for good measure. "TOMMY GEIGER OPEN THE FUCKING DOOR!"

Rosalind didn't stop slamming her fists into the Geiger's door until he did just that. Or at least, Nick did. He stood in the doorway, wearing only his pajama bottoms and gaping at her.

"Rosalind!" said Nick, alarmed. "What—"

Rosalind shoved past him. Tommy was standing in front of the television with an X-Box controller in his hand (he and Nick had been engaged in an intense round of FIFA), at a complete loss for words. He wore a flabbergasted expression identical to his brother's.

Rosalind threw herself at him. She knocked him off balance as she flung her arms around his neck and sobbed into his shoulder, dissolving into anguished crying that she hadn't known she had been holding back. Tommy tentatively wrapped his arms around her, then more confidently pulled her tight against him. He stroked the back of her head and pressed his lips gently to her hair.

They stayed like that for a long time, but when Rosalind showed no sign of pulling it together anytime soon (notwithstanding a valiant effort on Rosalind's behalf), Nick awkwardly cleared his throat.

"What's going on, Rosy?" he asked.

Rosalind shook her head, her face still pressed into Tommy's shoulder. She wasn't ready to verbalize what it was. Still, she knew she had to. She couldn't barge in on them after weeks of not speaking either to Tommy, or by default, Nick, without some form of an explanation.

"Skye…went to Arundel…to see…Jeffrey," she choked out between sobs. It was the best she could do. "And…and they…" She broke down again and couldn't finish.

Tommy held her at arm's length and wiped away her tears, which did little to help because they hadn't stopped falling. Briefly embarrassed, she noticed she had drenched the collar of his t-shirt.

"Did they get in an accident?" Tommy asked gently.

Rosalind shook her head, more aggressively this time. "They…they were abducted."

Tommy's hand dropped from Rosalind's arm for in shock, but he soon realized and pulled her back into a hug. He held her even tighter than before and muttered, "Oh my god. Oh my fucking god."

Nick didn't say anything, and instead ran out, slamming the front door behind him as he sprinted toward the Penderwick's house.

Rosalind kept crying until there were no tears left. She sniffed loudly and unwrapped Tommy's arms from around her. She slipped her hand into his and he squeezed it supportively. Rosalind noticed now that his eyes were watery and red.

"You should go home," he said. He brushed her hair out of her face. Her curls were stringy and wet from where she had drooled over them.

"Okay," said Rosalind, shakily. "But come with me. Please."

Tommy didn't need to be told twice. As they crossed the cul de sac, Rosalind told herself once again that this all must be some crazy dream, and she would wake up any minute now and tell Skye about it, who would undoubtedly scoff and call her an idiot. But when they rejoined the rest of her family back in their kitchen, she couldn't deny it any longer. What she wouldn't give to hear Skye call her an idiot again. Her knees buckled, but Tommy caught her before she fell and helped her stand upright.

Jane and Iantha were huddled together at the table, sobbing. Nick was talking to Mr. Penderwick, who was standing at the kitchen sink and staring blankly out into the backyard. Rosalind wasn't sure he was listening.

"I'll drive you to Arundel, Mr. Pen," said Nick. "You shouldn't be driving. None of you should."

"What? Oh. No, that's alright," said Mr. Penderwick. He sounded like he was in a trance and wasn't aware that he was speaking. He didn't look away from the window. "I'll manage."

Nick wouldn't take no for an answer. "My parents can watch Ben and Lydia, so you won't have to worry about them."

Mr. Penderwick nodded slowly. "What about Batty? Someone should tell...she should know."

"Batty!" Rosalind wailed. Her poor little sister still had no idea what had happened.

"If you would like I can explain it to her," Nick said quietly. He had always been good with Batty. He somehow knew how to make her feel better when no one else could. If Batty was coming with them, Nick driving was an even better idea. He needed to be there for her. Just like Tommy needed to be there too, for Rosalind's sake. She could accept that for at least the time being.

The next several minutes were a chaotic frenzy. Tommy helped Rosalind into a chair before collecting Ben and Lydia and taking them back to his house. Mr. Penderwick got a call from Mr. Geiger, who expressed his profound condolences and assured him that the little ones were in good hands. Batty came downstairs, still quite shaken, and Nick took her into the living room to tell her about Skye and Jeffrey.

When Rosalind heard how confused Batty was, she dragged herself into the next room to help Nick. She did her best to put on a brave face.

When Batty saw her, she ran into her arms and hugged her waist.

"What is Nick saying, Rosalind?" She asked fearfully. "Skye and Jeffrey were taken? Taken where?"

"We don't know, sweetheart," Rosalind murmured.

"Are they going to be okay?"

"We don't know that either."

Batty started to cry. "What if they don't find them?"

"They will," Rosalind said, although she wasn't sure she believed it. She was crying again now too. "They have to. Right, Nick?"

"Yeah. They will." Nick agreed. He didn't sound sure. Rosalind realized this was the first time in her life she had seen Nick Geiger look scared.

* * *

Skye shifted uncomfortably. It was hot and stuffy; she had to inhale deeply through her nose to breathe through the fabric strapped over her face. The zip-ties binding her hands had cut off circulation long ago, and they ached from being pinned underneath her body for so long. She struggled to roll on her side, but it was to no avail. It was too cramped inside of the trunk.

They had been driving for at nearly two hours now. Skye had sang "Tiny Dancer" to herself twenty-one times so far. It was the best she could do to attempt to guess how far they were being taken. She knew Jeffrey was in the trunk with her, undoubtedly in a worse state than she was.

For the twenty-second rendition of "Tiny Dancer," Skye hummed it out loud. Halfway through the first verse, Jeffrey joined in. Skye smiled, relieved, which was difficult, gagged as she was. The socks filled her mouth in its entirety; her cheeks bulged like a chipmunk collecting nuts. She had tried more than once to push them out with her tongue, but the pillowcase tied around her face was too taut and she only wore out her jaw.

Skye and Jeffrey made it through three more renditions of the song and were starting on a fourth when the car finally stopped. The steady, gnawing anxiety in Skye's chest spiked, so much that it was almost painful.

The trunk was popped open and the man dragged Skye out by her feet. She felt herself rub against Jeffrey as she was pulled past him and out of the car. She kicked and fought against the man wildly, but he didn't let go. He looped his arm through one of hers and forced her to walk forward. She still struggled to pull herself from his grasp, but it was all a futile attempt. It was probably just as well; even if she had managed to shake him off, she was blindfolded by the pillowcase and wouldn't have made it far.

The man stopped unexpectedly, and Skye stumbled. He fumbled with what sounded like chains, then dragged open a large heavy door. She tripped over the threshold as she was forced inside. She fell and scraped her knees against carpet. It burned her skin as her captor dragged her across the floor. When he stopped, again Skye heard the distinct rattle of chain links knocking into each other. A heavy metal shackle was locked around her right ankle. Skye heard the man's retreating footsteps, and soon she was alone.

She pulled the pillowcase off her face without much difficulty at all, then spat out the sock roll. She ran her tongue over her dry, cracked lips. Slowly, her eyes readjusted to the concept of use. She was in a dimly lit, sound-proofed room – no…a trailer. Maybe a shipping container? Glancing around, Skye inhaled sharply, horrified. Whatever it was had been manufactured into what could only be described as a torture chamber. Ropes and chains hung from pegs drilled into the walls. Knives and every sort of tool imaginable were locked in glass cases inside of a large wire crate like the one her family had only once used to contain their old dog Hound. It had been a disaster, Hound wasn't—Skye stopped herself. Now was not the time for daydreaming about dogs.

Ominous hooks were fastened into the floor. A chain hook hung from a pulley latched into the ceiling. The whole thing seemed sickeningly like something Jane had dreamt up for one of her rescue novels.

The man appeared in the doorway again, this time lugging a large duffel bag that could only contain Jeffrey. He flung the bag forward and Skye whimpered as it (and therefore, Jeffrey) hit the ground with a loud thud. The man pulled the trailer doors shut and kicked at the bag to transport it over to the wall near Skye. where further chains were expectantly awaiting their prisoner. The bag only rolled over once with each kick. Without thinking, Skye ran forward to try and stop him, but the chains around her ankle yanked her feet out from under her and she fell forward onto her hands. Skye begged the man to stop, but he only kicked harder.

After what seemed like an eternity, the bag reached its destination, but the man still gave it one last kick for good measure. Now that he was closer, Skye could see where Jeffrey was recoiling from the beating. The man unzipped the duffel bag and Jeffrey spilled out onto the floor. Two chains were padlocked to hooks in the wall, and the man shackled each to one of Jeffrey's wrists, despite the fact that they were already cuffed behind him.

He knelt in front of Jeffrey and tilted his chin up so he was forced to look him in the eye, and almost gleefully, he said, "You don't know how long I've wanted this, kid."

He slugged him across the face.

"Stop it!" Skye shouted.

The man ignored her. He hit Jeffrey again, this time sending him sprawling back over the floor. "You've been a pain in my ass for too fucking long."

Suddenly (and in hindsight, ridiculously too late), Skye realized who their captor was. So his voice truly had sounded familiar; she would have earlier sworn she had imagined it. Her jaw dropped in disbelief. It was one thing to shove someone down a flight of stairs in a fit of rage (though still inexcusable and despicable, of course), but kidnapping and torturing someone was quite another.

Skye and her sisters had made jokes and snide comments about Dexter Dupree murdering Jeffrey for years, but had any one of them thought that it was even a remote possibility? Without a doubt, no. Not once. Skye never genuinely thought Dexter was that fucked in his head. Now, it appeared he was actually even more so.

Skye snapped out of her shock when Dexter's foot made contact with Jeffrey's ribcage again.

"You're pathetic," Dexter spat down at him. "This is just the goddamn beginning." He wound his leg up again for another blow.

Skye dove in front of Jeffrey.

The kick knocked the wind right out of her. She lay directly on top of Jeffrey, wheezing and in pain, but relieved that she had caught that kick instead of him. She had just been able to reach him; already she was at the end of her chain.

"Get out of the way," Dexter snarled at her.

"Nope." Skye forced out the word between painful breaths but still pulled off a sarcastic tone.

Dexter swore and grabbed the chain locked around her ankle and pulled her back. Skye flung her bound hands over Jeffrey's head and held on tight. Her leg lifted off the ground behind her as Dexter yanked harder against her chain. She only tightened her hold on Jeffrey. Damned if she would surrender that easily.

In the end, it was Dexter who gave in. He relinquished his hold on her and stepped away. "Stubborn piece of shit," he grumbled.

Without letting go of Jeffrey, Skye swiveled her head around to look at him. "Proudly," she said breathlessly, but defiantly.

He glared at her, but she glared right back. On his way out the door, he called back, "Consider my promise kept, Jeffrey. Consider it fucking kept."

Skye hadn't the faintest idea what that meant, but at least for the moment, it wasn't her concern. When she heard the doors lock behind Dexter, she sagged with relief. She untangled herself from Jeffrey and carefully sat him upright. "I got you," she said quietly, reassuring herself as much as she was him. She ripped the blue ribbon off his face so that it hung limp around his neck. When she pulled the socks from his mouth, he rolled away from her and coughed violently, gasping for air. Skye thought he might vomit, but he never did.

"Fuck that," said Jeffrey hoarsely once he had caught his breath enough to speak. He swung back around toward Skye once more.

The left side of Jeffrey's face was red from the punches. A bruise would form within the hour, Skye was sure of it.

"Holy sh…" Skye didn't bother to finish. She brushed her fingertips down his cheek and across his jaw, then dropped her hands. She turned her face away to hide her tears, but he saw them anyway. He always did. She reminded herself not to feel embarrassed. If there was ever a right time for tears, this was it.

"Don't cry," Jeffrey said gently. "Please, don't."

"I'm not." Skye wiped the tears from her cheeks, but others soon fell in replacement. "I can't help it."

Jeffrey never wanted Skye to cry for him, but somehow, she had cried for Jeffrey more than anyone else. She wrapped her arms around his neck – difficult with her hands still bound – and pulled him into her chest as best she could. He hid his face in her hair and sucked in a deep trembling breath. Skye didn't speak for a long time, knowing that if she did, she would sob, obnoxious and uncontrollable sobbing. So the two of them sat there in silence, each trying to be strong for the sake of the other.

Then Skye asked for confirmation that she didn't really need. "Was that—"

"Dexter?" Jeffrey said before she finished. "Yeah."

Skye scoffed, almost disbelievingly despite having figured it out already. She buried her face in Jeffrey's neck. The collar rubbed against her cheek. "What did he mean?" She asked. Her breath fluttered against his skin and bounced back into her face "Consider what promise kept?"

Jeffrey sighed deeply and leaned back so that Skye would pull her arms away. Jeffrey tucked his knees into his chest and stared down at his feet so he didn't have to look at Skye.

"That he's going to kill me." Now Jeffrey did look at her, and Skye almost wished he hadn't. He was doing his best not to seem scared, but try as he might, he was terrified. Skye could see it in his eyes. "He said so when my mother asked for – no – _demanded_ a divorce."

He really blamed Jeffrey? So much to want to not only kill him, but to torture him to death? Skye couldn't fathom it. She was having a hard time imagining anyone ever wanting to hurt Jeffrey at all, let alone that much. No one deserved it less.

Skye felt like all the air had been sucked from her lungs and they had forgotten how to expand.

"If he wants to kill you," said Skye, more serious than she'd ever been, "he'll have to kill me first."

"Skye, no." Jeffrey sat up so straight his chains pulled tight against his wrists. "You're not a part of this. I won't—"

"Not a part of what?" Skye interrupted furiously. She wasn't angry with Jeffrey – how could she be? – but hell would freeze over before she let him argue with her. "Dexter is delusional, Jeffrey. Out of his fucking mind. Clinically insane. You're not a part of it either."

Jeffrey held her gaze. "Maybe, but I'm his target. You shouldn't be here."

"I'm glad I am," said Skye fiercely. "Sitting around waiting to hear if they found you? Or found your body?" Skye swallowed and pushed that thought from her mind. "That would kill me faster than Dexter ever could."

Skye offered Jeffrey a small but humorous smile that he did not return. He leaned against the wall again so he could relax his back. He grit his teeth from the pain and Skye abruptly remembered his bruised ribs. Her concern must have been obvious because Jeffrey insisted he was fine. Skye didn't dispute it, but she felt nauseous.

"I need you to promise me something," said Jeffrey.

Skye nodded. There wasn't anything she wouldn't promise him that night.

"He can't know," Jeffrey continued with great urgency. "About how I feel about you. He can't, okay? Ever."

"Alright."

"I'm serious, Skye!" Jeffrey insisted. "He blames me for the divorce. He'll take that out on you if he finds out that I—" He stopped.

"I hate talking about it, you know that." Skye picked at the zip-ties around his ankles, but to no avail. "Why would I bring it up?" Admittedly, she had been the one to bring it up early that evening, but that was a singular occurrence. She would have no reason to again.

"Just promise me."

"I promise. Penderwick family honor." Unable to help herself, Skye added, "Do or die."

Jeffrey was more than a little disappointed in her for including that bit, but for some reason it made Skye laugh. It wasn't a very long laugh, or a very genuine one, but it was a laugh just the same. She thought Jeffrey might scold her, but whatever the reprimand he'd had in mind was, he kept it to himself.

Skye's amusement at her own insensitive joke faded as quickly as it had come. She had a feeling she should be grateful for finding anything to laugh about, even if it was ill-suited.

"I was coming back upstairs, you know," said Skye. "To apologize."

Jeffrey was surprised. Perhaps not that she was sorry, but that she was mentioning it at all, given the circumstance. But to Skye, given the circumstance, now was just as good a time as any.

"It doesn't matter anymore," said Jeffrey.

"It does to me. I called Jane, she talked some sense into me." Skye frowned, wondering if that had been the last time she would ever talk to her younger sister.

"Good ol' Jane." Jeffrey's tone reflected the same thought.

Skye forged on. "She said it's been hard to tell if I still care about you. I do. Of course I do. I'm just a temperamental idiot."

Jeffrey almost smiled. "I know that." He face clouded over again. "And even if I didn't, it's obvious now. After all of this."

Skye was still picking at his ankle restraints. She bit her lower lip in concentration, so she only nodded in response. She had to try several approaches to accommodate her own bound hands, but she was able to slide a fingernail underneath the zip-tie's locking bar. She popped it up just enough that Jeffrey was able to loosen the zip-tie and pull apart his feet.

"If you get a chance to run, take it," said Jeffrey. "Promise me that too."

Alright, so there was one thing she wouldn't promise him. Skye shot down that idea with a fervent shake of her head. "I won't leave you here."

"If something happens to you—"

Skye interrupted yet again. "You really think I could live with myself? After abandoning you? And then if he…" She couldn't say it. "Jeffrey." She spoke sternly. His eyes flicked up to meet hers before returning to the floor. Skye grabbed his face and forced him to look at her. "We both survive this, or we both die."

"Skye…" He was on the verge of tears.

"Shut up," said Skye. She lowered her hands from his face and curled up beside him. "We are in this together. End of discussion."


	9. Chapter 9

The drive to Arundel Hall was the longest car ride of Jane's life. Her tears had dried out at about the halfway point, but she didn't feel any better. Her phone call with Skye was replaying over and over in her mind. If she hadn't of convinced Skye not to leave Arundel, would she have been alright? Jane knew that it was dwelling on such questions was unwise, but she couldn't stop them. They invaded her thoughts like a plague. She felt guilty for wondering it as well, feeling like she was wishing that Jeffrey would have been taken alone. It wasn't exactly what she did wish for, but at least if Skye had made it home safely, Jane would only have to be scared of losing one person she loved. Maybe if she knew Skye was alright, Jane would feel less hatred for herself. She wouldn't feel like she had gotten her sister killed.

But of course, even if Skye had left Arundel unharmed, she wouldn't have been alright. Jane knew that. Her sister was as brave as she was loyal: through and through. Jane tried to picture Skye hearing that Jeffrey was taken, and knew that she would have loathed herself (much like Jane currently did) for abandoning him in his hour of need. The thought broke Jane's heart almost as much as the truth had. She started to cry again just as Nick turned the car onto Stafford Street. Iantha reached over and grabbed Jane's hand, her own face puffy and red.

If anyone had been holding out hope that maybe – just maybe – this whole thing had been Mrs. Tifton's idea of a vengeful prank, arriving at Arundel obliterated that. At least half a dozen police cars were gathered in the massive driveway, their lights flashing red and blue. Officers and forensics teams were swarming the grounds and communicating amongst each other through radios.

Jane stumbled out of the back seat. She would have fallen completely had Iantha not still had a firm grip on her hand. The scene shocked the crying right out of her. Perhaps she had been the one subconsciously hoping everything would turn out to be a just a sick joke.

Mrs. Tifton was sitting at the base of the Marble Thunderbolt Man and clutching a Styrofoam cup. She was speaking to someone (probably a detective) who was jotting notes in a small pad of paper. Mr. Penderwick headed straight for her.

A uniformed cop stepped in front of him to block his path. "Sir, this is an open investigation. I'm going to have to ask you to stay back."

Mr. Penderwick didn't even slow down. "Don't tell me to stay back, my daughter is missing!"

Jane started. Her father was usually so calm and collected. If he was unraveling at such an accelerated rate, hope was lost for the rest of them.

Again, the officer shifted himself in front of Mr. Penderwick. "I'm sorry, but I must insist."

"It's alright, Jeremy," a woman said, approaching. She was dressed in a grey pant suit and most certainly outranked this Jeremy, who sheepishly ducked his head and hurried off.

"Sorry about that," the woman apologized. "We don't get many cases like this as it is, and Officer Stevens is a rookie."

Mr. Penderwick only nodded vaguely in response. Jane didn't think that telling her father the department was inexperienced was the right call, but then again, what did she know about criminal investigation?

"You're Martin Penderwick? Mrs. Tifton told us to expect you. I'm Detective Evelyn Cheng, I'm heading this investigation." She stuck out her hand, which Mr. Penderwick unenthusiastically shook. Jane could tell her father was irritated by all the niceties. "Let me be the first to tell you that I am so sorry that this has happened. My team and I are doing everything we can to locate your daughter."

"And what is that, exactly?" Jane spoke up, surprising herself as much as the others. She wasn't usually the confrontational one.

"My daughter, Jane," Mr. Penderwick told the detective.

Detective Cheng smiled at her. "Hi, Jane. I understand you are scared for your sister. We've already checked the security cameras. Now we're combing the area and talking to neighbors to see if we can come up with any leads. I've got my best men on this. I know it's a lot to ask, but I hope you can trust us to find Skye."

Jane didn't know how to respond, so she opted against it entirely. Trusting them was all she could do while trying to forget all the statistics and graphic depictions of abductions that crime shows had provided her with. Her head was already full of images of Skye and Jeffrey being beaten with chains, or strangled with cables, or their bodies disposed of at the bottom of a lake. For once, Jane wished she didn't have quite so active an imagination.

A voice came through Detective Cheng's radio and informed her that the cottage was clear; it had added nothing to the investigation. She sent back, "I'm moving everyone there." She settled her radio back into a clip on her belt. She turned back to Jane and her father. By now the rest of the family, plus Nick and Tommy, had gathered behind them. "Mr. Penderwick, if you and your family would kindly follow me. I'd like to get you all situated so I can ask a few questions."

This wasn't how Jane had envisioned her return to Arundel Cottage. Many of her favorite childhood memories came from that fateful summer they had rented it. She clung desperately to them to ward off the vicious, dark clouds of present day's reality that were threatening to swallow them up and replace them with memories that were sinister and barbaric.

Despite it being nearly midnight, as they approached, Jane could still make out the cottage's buttery yellow walls. Memories of arriving at this cottage the first time (Skye frantically racing to claim the best bedroom while Jane daydreamed about Jeffrey, the boy she had seen in a window) popped into Jane's head. What usually caused her such joy to think about instead brought on great pain.

They entered the kitchen and Jane thought of how young Skye, her temper ablaze, had railed on Jeffrey after Jane had worked so hard to get him to the cottage for an apology. Who would have thought that their haphazard apology party would ultimately lead to her courageous sister's likely demise?

 _Stop it_ , Jane told herself sternly. She blinked away the tears pricking at her eyelids. _You can't think like that, Jane. Stay positive._

But real life didn't have heroine's like Jane's own Sabrina Starr, who swooped to the rescue with only minute and insignificant obstacles to overcome. Sabrina always did catch a break, didn't she? Lucky, stuck up bitch. Skye had been right about her. She really was quite the irritating character.

Still, Jane would have given anything for Sabrina Starr to heroically save Skye and Jeffrey. Or maybe Jace Herondale, or Katniss Everdeen, Harry Potter, or Maximum Ride. Anyone with an overabundance of exceptional resources that were not available to the pale, pathetic attempts at heroes that real life had to offer. In fact, Jane was beginning to understand that all of her reading had done nothing but build ridiculous expectations that could never truly be met by anyone that didn't come from between the pages of a book.

Jane snapped a bit out of her despondence when Mrs. Tifton joined them, flanked by another detective who introduced himself as Derek Silva.

Jane couldn't remember a time when she had thought to refer to Mrs. Tifton as a "poor woman," but the poor woman was visibly distraught.

Detective Silva lowered Mrs. Tifton into a chair. She was trembling so vigorously it was unlikely she would have made it on her own. Her face was ashen and streaked with black mascara.

"How did you let this happen?" Mr. Penderwick demanded, hardly giving Mrs. Tifton any time to collect herself. He didn't bother saying hello. "Where the hell were you?"

"Martin!" Iantha stepped forward and laid a hand on his arm.

Mr. Penderwick swatted her hand away. "I have the right to be angry, Iantha. We could lose Skye." He rounded on Mrs. Tifton. "And if you wouldn't have left them alone, I wouldn't be missing my daughter."

To Jane's utmost surprise, it was Batty who came to Mrs. Tifton's defense. "What about Jeffrey, Daddy?"

Now, there was a chance Batty didn't fully grasp the severity of the situation and therefore did not understand their father's outburst, but at eleven Jane believed that Batty was wise beyond her years (certainly wiser than Jane had been at eleven), and could see that the blame game would do no good for any of them.

Their father deflated at the sight of Batty clutching Nick's hand and staring at Mr. Penderwick, eyes wide and swimming with emotion. Mr. Penderwick ran a hand through his hair. "Sometimes kids have a better handle on things than we adults do, don't they? I apologize. I didn't mean to discount Jeffrey."

Mrs. Tifton only nodded, her chin resting against her folded hands. Her body wracked with silent sobs. Jane felt an unfamiliar rush of empathy for her, having cried in an identical fashion for several hours already herself. This wasn't the first time Jane had seen Mrs. Tifton so worried about Jeffrey either. Well, maybe she hadn't been quite as worried then, but years earlier (during the Penderwick's stay at Arundel), Jeffrey had run away in an attempt to flee from a future in a military academy, and to find his father. Mrs. Tifton had been beside herself with worry, but it had been different for Jane then. She, as well as her sisters, had known of Jeffrey's plan – in fact, they had hidden upstairs. Jane hadn't understood what Mrs. Tifton was going through at the time. But now, faced with losing Skye and Jeffrey forever, Jane realized how cruel they had been to hide him from Mrs. Tifton. No one should ever be forced to fear that much for the safety of someone they love.

For all they knew, Skye and Jeffrey could already be dead.

Detectives Cheng and Silva had been comparing notes, but now that an even heavier tension had settled over the room, Detective Cheng tucked away her pad of paper and addressed them all. "I know this is hard for all of you, but what you really need right now is each other. The smoother we can get through this, the better chance we will have of finding your kids. Alright?"

Solemn nods rippled around the room.

Detective Cheng smiled encouragingly at them. "There are a lot of people here," she observed. "If at all possible, I would like to speak privately with just the parents. It's an overwhelming process already, and when there are more people, it only makes it worse."

Overwhelming? Ha! Pre-calculus finals are overwhelming, _this_ was not overwhelming. This was emotional trauma. But the rest of her family seemed to agree with the detective, so Jane and her sisters filed up the stairs obediently, followed closely by Nick and Tommy.

Jane could see that Rosalind wanted to hear what was going on in the kitchen just as much as she did. How could their father just send them up to bed without knowing where the investigation stood? She certainly couldn't sleep while she was holding out for any sort of assurance that Skye and Jeffrey would be found alright.

Tommy seemed to notice this as well. He stopped on the landing and pulled Rosalind into a hug. Just loud enough so Jane could hear, he whispered into Rosalind's ear, "Nick and I will get Batty settled in her room."

Rosalind squeaked out her thanks, and Jane wished (not for the first time) that she had her own Tommy to support her in times of crisis. Of course, none of Jane's past crises had been quite so crisis-like.

"You want to listen too?" Rosalind asked her. Her voice cracked from all her crying.

"Yes." Jane's own voice was a strange and unfamiliar pitch as she tried to keep it from breaking, yet again. Crying would certainly expose them for spying.

"Mrs. Tifton," Detective Cheng was saying. "Would you kindly give us the name and address of Jeffrey's father?"

Jane gripped Rosalind's arm. "They don't think it was Alec do they?"

Rosalind shushed her.

"Um…his name is Alec." There was a pause before Mrs. Tifton realized there would be more than one Alec in the state of Massachusetts. "McGrath." She sounded uncharacteristically timid. "I have his address somewhere. In my phone, I think."

If she hadn't been so utterly terrified, Jane would have beamed with pride as her father spoke up to safeguard Alec's honor.

"I know Jeffrey's father very well. He isn't behind this."

Detective Cheng adopted an air of sympathetic patience. "I'm sure he isn't. But, statistically, when parents are separated and a child is missing—"

"Alec would _never_ hurt Jeffrey!" It was Mrs. Tifton who had spoken. She was shockingly ferocious, as if she too was offended by the idea. Jane glanced over at Rosalind, who was mirroring her stunned expression. Mrs. Tifton wasn't the type to jump to anyone's defense, particularly not her ex-husband's.

Detective Silva spoke up. "We understand you both feel this way, but it would be unwise for us not to check him out. We have to cover all of our bases as a precaution. I assure you, we have Jeffrey and Skye's best interest in mind."

Hmph. Sabrina Starr would know not to waste time making unsupported accusations about Alec McGrath.

"Is there anyone you can think of who would want to hurt your son?" Detective Silva steered the conversation back to questions.

Jane could almost hear Mrs. Tifton bristling defensively. "Why does it have to be about Jeffrey? Skye's certainly not the friendliest of girls. I'm sure she's made plenty of enemies with that god forsaken attitude of hers."

Rosalind straightened up stiffly, precisely as Jane did the same. Leave it to Mrs. Tifton to be rude about Skye when she could very well be dead. Jane shivered and wrapped her arms around herself. She couldn't think about that without running the risk of passing out.

"My daughter did _nothing_ to cause this!" Jane thought she heard her father slam his palms on the table. Rosalind looked as rattled as Jane felt.

"So you're implying that it was my son who did?" Mrs. Tifton shot back. Her voice was dulled by her clear pain and frantic worry, but it still had a bit of a sharp edge. "All the time Jeffrey spends defending your family and none of you seem too concerned about him. He's also missing, if you didn't notice."

This was too much for Jane. She adored Jeffrey more than anything.

Rosalind could sense that Jane was offended. "Jane, no!"

But Jane ignored her. She wouldn't lose her temper (that was Skye's job), and she wasn't thinking about the Penderwick Family Honor. She had only her own to worry about. Rosalind tried to catch her hand, but Jane was too quick for her. She bounded down the stairs and rushed into the kitchen with such urgency that she narrowly skidded to a halt before she crashed into the back of her father's chair.

"I'm concerned. I'm terrified."

No one seemed particularly surprised to see her. That they were hiding on the stairs may not have been as much of a secret as Jane and Rosalind had hoped. Mrs. Tifton did, however, seem surprised that Jane was speaking to her.

Jane swallowed. She already felt another unwelcome lump crawling its way up her throat. "Jeffrey is like my brother. I talk to him every…" She took a deep steadying breath, but still, the tears came. "Every…single…day." It was hard for her to speak, but she forced out words anyway, not knowing or caring if they were comprehensible. "Skye would barge in here and demand that you take that back, but I'm not going to do that. But I would like to say that Jeffrey is a part of me. If something happens to him, that's a piece of myself that I will never get back. Not ever."

It was dead silent. Even the detectives in the room were at a loss for words. Maybe they giving them space to would out their differences. Jane couldn't be sure which.

Between sobs, she spluttered, "Th-that's all I have to say. Now, goodnight." But she didn't leave. Her feet remained firmly, stubbornly planted into the floor.

"Oh, Jane." Mr. Penderwick stood up to go to her, but Iantha got there first. Jane clung to her as if she were a life raft in an angry sea. Rosalind joined them and rubbed her hand over Jane's back to comfort her.

"We all love Jeffrey," said Rosalind.

Over Iantha's shoulder, Jane saw Mrs. Tifton tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, and while she couldn't be certain (her vision really was quite blurred from all the crying), it seemed to Jane like she had been disguising herself brushing away a tear.

"Well," Mrs. Tifton said awkwardly, after a long while. "Thank you for that."

Jane sniffed and shuddered as she snorted the contents of her runny nose down her throat. She scrubbed at her face with the sleeve of her sweatshirt and backed away from Iantha. She still remembered where the cups were kept from their original stay, so she poured herself a glass of water to wash down any remaining phlegm.

Detective Cheng pushed herself away from the wall she had been leaning on and sat at the table in between Mr. Penderwick and Mrs. Tifton. Iantha stood behind Mr. Penderwick and rested her hands on his shoulders. Detective Silva looked on from his corner of the room.

"Neither Skye nor Jeffrey caused any of this," said Detective Cheng. "It is never the victim's fault, but we do have to look into what might have motivated someone to do this to them."

Jane hoisted herself up onto the counter and filled her glass once more. She would stay this time. She was more than old enough to hear what the detectives had to say, and she had seen her fair share of crime shows that allowed her to visualize the different possible outcomes more than she would have liked.

"We did recover a surveillance video of the abduction," said Detective Cheng. She spoke too calmly, like this was rehearsed dialogue. It probably was. "Based on that, we have good reason to believe that it is Jeffrey who was the target of this attack, not Skye."

Mrs. Tifton blanched. "What could possibly – well, why take her at all, then?"

Detective Cheng looked apologetically over at Mr. Penderwick and Iantha. She even bounced her sympathetic gaze over to Rosalind first, then Jane before she settled it back on their father. "She appeared to be…if you'll excuse me, a means to an end."

"To _what_ end?" Mrs. Tifton asked faintly. She pressed a hand to her heart as if it would help to calm her.

"We're not sure, at the present time."

"You're not sure?" Rosalind echoed, almost angrily. "You can say Jeffrey was a target, but you don't know what that means?"

"It's too early in the investigation to know what the motivation was, but I promise that as soon as we figure it out, we will be sure to keep every one of you informed."

Jane could think of several possible motivations. Jealousy, money, vengeance? She could only hope that it was Mrs. Tifton's money and a ransom would be made. That was the only option she wasn't certain had Jeffrey's death as the end goal.

As if she had read Jane's mind and was responding to her, Detective Cheng said, "Usually, in cases like this we would be expecting a ransom demand, but it is already late for us to receive one, and in light of the surveillance video, I can confidently say that this was a personal attack against Jeffrey."

Mrs. Tifton dropped her hand from her heart and straightened up in her chair authoritatively. "I want to see it. The footage."

Detective Cheng shook her head, just slightly. "I know you think you want to, but it's better that you don't. That isn't what you want your most recent memory of your son to be."

"I don't—"

Detective Cheng held out a hand to quiet Mrs. Tifton, kindly, but resolutely. "Trust me. This is best. My team and I will not rest until we find them."

Mrs. Tifton started to protest again, but thought better of it. "I—oh god." She crumpled back in her seat; for a moment Jane thought she might slide off altogether. Her hands flew to her face as she lost all control and broke down, sobbing.

It was such a strange sight – Mrs. Tifton publicly exhibiting so much vulnerability – that Jane's own grief momentarily subsided. She was so overcome with surprise and discomfort that she almost forgot that she was just as miserable as Mrs. Tifton was.

Jane filled another cup with water and set it in front of Mrs. Tifton, who looked up at Jane with eyes so full of anguish that Jane nearly pinched her own arm to remind herself her she was looking at.

But certain emotions can humanize even the worst of mankind, and in that moment, so heartbroken over Jeffrey, Mrs. Tifton looked more human than she ever had. Jane could hardly believe that this was the same woman who had mercilessly terrorized her and her sisters as children. She wasn't intimidating at all; in fact, she looked like she could use a comforting hug just as much as Jane could.

Still, hugging Mrs. Tifton went too far. The water had been a decent enough gesture. Taking too many abrupt steps towards solidarity with Mrs. Tifton couldn't be good for her health.

"I know this is difficult," Detective Cheng said softly. "But it is really important that I ask you some questions. Is that okay?"

Mrs. Tifton downed the glass of water in a single gulp, then nodded. Mr. Penderwick did as well, though it seemed like Detective Cheng had been largely speaking to Mrs. Tifton.

"Think about it as long as you have to, I'm going to ask one more time: is there anyone you can think of that might want to hurt Jeffrey?"

"No, he's liked by ev…" Mrs. Tifton stopped. Her already colorless face paled even further as any remaining blood drained from her cheeks. She gripped her chair's armrests tightly, her eyes wild. _"Oh my god."_

Detective Cheng pulled her notepad out from her jacket and clicked her pen expectantly. Jane exchanged fretful glances with Rosalind.

"It's my husband!" said Mrs. Tifton, so quickly that the words jumbled together into one. "We've been separated over a month. He pushed Jeffrey down the stairs."

This revelation was met with a loud outcry from each Penderwick in the room. Jane thought back to every time she had spoken to Jeffrey over the past several weeks, wondering how she hadn't picked up on even the slightest hint that something was wrong.

Mrs. Tifton continued, "He threw a vase at him, it's why I asked for a divorce. He thinks it's Jeffrey's fault."

Nick had come down without anyone noticing. "He threw Jeffrey down a flight of stairs and blames his divorce on him?" Nick's face spelled murder. "Son of a fucking bitch." He turned to Rosalind. "Batty is asking for you."

Rosalind left silently, but Nick lingered behind, apparently having decided that he should remain in her place.

"This is our neighbor, Nick Geiger," Iantha briefly explained. "He drove us up."

Introductions were the least of Mrs. Tifton's worries. She was rocking back and forth and muttering. "Oh my god, he's going to kill him. He said he would. He's going to kill my baby!" She didn't even glance in Nick's direction.

"Mrs. Tifton?" Detective Cheng cocked her head so that she could look her in the eye. "Mrs. Tifton, what is your husband's name?"

"Dexter Dupree," said Mrs. Tifton. She stood up and vomited in the sink. She ran the faucet and to wash it away, then drank directly from the tap in a most undignified manner. She sank back into her seat, sobbing, again, with what to Jane felt a lot like guilt-wracked agony.


	10. Chapter 10

The sun was rising before before Dexter rejoined Skye and Jeffrey. It was the first thing Skye would notice when the door swung open to admit him. 

Neither of them had slept very much, nor had they ever really tried. Skye had discouragingly failed to break the zip-tie around her wrists, despite many, many attempts. It had looked so much easier online, but then again, what didn’t? Eventually she had given up. Instead, Skye had told Jeffrey more details about her conversation with Jane, which had amused him greatly and prompted him to observe that Jane always had his back. “So do I,” Skye had promised. “Just with an asterisk for all the moody confusion.” 

Much of the night had gone this way. Skye and Jeffrey teased each other and pretended that they weren’t locked up in a shipping container awaiting death. While they weren’t entirely unsuccessful, the truth still loomed over them indisputably. By morning, they had grown tired of trying to deny it. 

At the sound of the chains on the doors being pulled away, Skye positioned herself firmly in front of Jeffrey. Today, Dexter wasn’t wearing a mask, since he no longer had a reason to hide his face after being so overt with his identity. He had, however, bleached his hair and shaved his mustache. Skye almost snorted at the sight; Jeffrey did. 

“Hello Dexter,” said Skye with a sneer. “You’re a dreadful blonde.” 

Dexter sneered in return. “Funny how you think you can protect him.” 

“Pathetic that I have to,” Skye shot back. 

Dexter shrugged. “Maybe. But I’m certainly having fun.” He grabbed Skye by her wrist and flung her away from Jeffrey. She fell to her knees, and Dexter kicked her forward, flat on her stomach. “You can’t save him,” he taunted her, his foot planted against her lower back so she couldn’t stand. Her cheek was pressed into the carpet, but from the corner of her eye she could see Dexter lowering the metal hook dangling from the pulley in the ceiling. She tried to buck his foot off of her, but he still clipped the hook to Skye’s zip-tied hands. He stepped away and she was abruptly hoisted to her feet, her arms stretched up over her head. She hung just high enough that her heels were lifted off the ground, only the balls of her feet remained in contact with the carpet. It rendered her entirely incapable of moving from that very spot. 

“There,” said Dexter. “Now you can’t get in my way.” 

Skye tried to lunge at him, but she feebly swung forward an inch or two, then back again, utterly powerless. “Leave him alone. Please.” Her heart was pounding so vigorously against her ribs that her words were shaky and strained.

Dexter only winked at her. Anger coursed through Skye, followed closely by a flash of fear as Dexter moved to bind Jeffrey’s ankles again, this time wrapping them in chains so Skye couldn’t free them a second time. 

Jeffrey had been rather docile up until this point, but before Dexter finished, he lashed out and kicked Dexter just above the knees. He lost his balance and toppled backwards. When he got up again, he was spluttering furiously and red in the face. Skye might have laughed if she wasn’t so terrified that Dexter was going to kill Jeffrey for it right there. 

“Kid, you’re going to wish you hadn’t.” This time he approached Jeffrey the long way, careful to stay clear of his kicking range. He took out a small key and took the handcuffs from Jeffrey’s wrists. 

“Doubt it,” said Jeffrey. “You’ll kill me anyway, right?” 

Skye had a direct view of Dexter’s face, one that Jeffrey didn’t have, and Dexter’s face was saying that not only would he kill him, but it would be slow, and he’d enjoy every minute. 

“Jeffrey…” Skye warned. 

Dexter unlocked the chains that were restraining Jeffrey to the wall. “You’re making everything worse.”

Though a metal shackle was still locked around each of Jeffrey’s wrists, they were separate chains and his hands were no longer trapped behind him. “I might as well keep going then,” he said, then threw himself at Dexter and swung at him in every way that he could. 

Skye watched with horrified anticipation as they rolled over the ground, pummeling each other. Jeffrey’s fist collided squarely with Dexter’s nose. He swore and kneed Jeffrey in the jaw in retaliation. Jeffrey staggered just enough for Dexter to grab onto the dog leash still fastened to his neck. In one swift yank, the fight was over. Dexter wrapped it around his wrist so he wouldn’t lose his grip, then gathered up both of the chains shackled to Jeffrey’s wrists. He dragged Jeffrey across the carpet by all three of them. 

A fresh panic surged through Skye as she lost all hope that Jeffrey could overpower Dexter. Jeffrey fought him, but it did nothing to help, just as Skye fighting her own restraints hadn’t helped either. She was confident that if she was persistent and patient, she would be able to break the zip-tie. It wasn’t designed to hold her entire bodyweight itself. 

“You know Dexter,” said Jeffrey, out of breath and trying his best to sound like he wasn’t in pain. “That was just cheating.” 

Cheek did not sit well with Dexter. No one knew that better than Jeffrey. Dexter backhanded him across the face. Skye willed Jeffrey to keep his mouth shut before he got himself killed. 

Dexter pulled each of Jeffrey’s arms out to the side and bound his wrists to the D-ring tie downs bolted into the floor. He now lay flat with his back exposed, his arms stretched out beside him to form a forbidding “T.” 

“What are you going to do?” Skye asked, despite herself. She was having some difficulty breathing, but whether it was from her arms being held up directly over her head, or if she was beginning to hyperventilate, she didn’t know. 

Dexter ignored her. He took a pocketknife from his jeans and flipped open the blade. It slid through the fabric of Jeffrey’s t-shirt, and Jeffrey’s back seized up against Dexter’s touch. 

Jeffrey’s shirt came away bloody. Skye shrieked. Dexter had dragged the knife along Jeffrey’s skin; it sliced a thin red line from the base of his back up to the top of his shoulder blades. 

Dexter discarded Jeffrey’s cut up shirt several yards away from them. He pulled off his belt. 

“Don’t!” Skye screeched. “Don’t hurt him!” She knew that no amount of pleading with Dexter would stop him, but that didn’t keep it from tumbling out of her mouth. 

There was a sickening slap of leather against bare skin. Blood sprang from a cut as the belt’s buckle carved into Jeffrey’s back. Dexter raised his arm and struck again. Jeffrey clenched his fists, his body’s reflexive way to combat the pain. 

Skye flailed dramatically, twisting and turning as she strained to break her bindings. 

Dexter brought the belt down hard on Jeffrey’s back, over and over. Skye could see the cords in Jeffrey’s neck popping behind the collar as he grit his teeth against each blow. He hadn’t made a single sound. 

“Stop it! STOP!” Skye screamed. She rattled the chain suspending her upright. The zip-tie dug relentlessly into her wrists and her fingers tingled from poor circulation, but she hardly noticed. 

The repeated motion of Dexter’s arm slinging the belt across Jeffrey’s back showed no sign of slowing. It was gaining momentum. The belt buckle bit into Jeffrey’s flesh with every strike; his skin was slick with sweat and blood. Skye shrieked again. 

With the next lash, the buckle hit Jeffrey squarely across the face. For the first time, he cried out. Dexter flung his belt to the side and for a moment, Skye thought he may have finished. Then he reached into a large bag that Skye had been too preoccupied to notice he had brought with him. He had only been spurred on. He drew out a golf club. 

Skye’s panic so greatly tightened her chest that, at first, no matter how hard she screamed, her voice stuck in her throat. When she did manage to free her screams, her words escaped as only harsh whispers, like trying to speak while on a rollercoaster. “No, please. No no no no, I’ll do anything.”

He didn’t so much as glance at her before he slammed the golf club down. This Skye couldn’t watch. She squeezed her eyes shut, flinching against every “thwack” of the club against Jeffrey’s body. He was killing him. She lost count before– praise the Lord that Skye had never really believed in – the zip-tie snapped. Skye fell, finally free. 

Jeffrey was hardly conscious. Dexter wound the club up for another beating; he hadn’t noticed Skye. For the second time, she flung herself in front of Jeffrey. She took the full force of the blow directly to her temple. Her vision blackened momentarily and she swayed dangerously, off balance. 

“I am _really_ starting to lose my patience with you,” Dexter snarled at her. 

The darkness had faded, but Skye’s eyes had yet to uncross. “Then kill me. You’re going to have to.” 

Behind her, Jeffrey grunted weakly like he was trying to say something, but he couldn’t gather the strength to form intelligible words. 

When Dexter swung the club down again, Skye saw three arms and three golf clubs plummeting toward her. She threw out her hands, each aiming for a different club, and – miracle to end all miracles – caught the real one. The force of it felt like it could have shattered her arm, but its tangibility helped to focus her eyesight: the three images converged into one. Skye grabbed the end of the club with both hands and tore it from Dexter’s grasp. He took a step back from her, defenseless. 

“What’s wrong?” Skye said nastily. She brandished the club menacingly, though she had no intention of swinging at him unless he came closer. “Afraid I’ll hit you back?” 

Dexter’s eyes flickered past Skye to Jeffrey’s broken, bleeding body. It satisfied him enough, so turning back to Skye, he said, “This is the last time I’m going to let you win. Enjoy it.” 

Skye hurled the club at him as we walked away, but her aim was off. It clattered to the floor several yards away from its target. Without looking at either them again, Dexter stuck the bloodied club into his bag and soon, blissfully, Skye and Jeffrey were alone. 

Skye could have kicked herself, realizing that she had thrown away her one potential weapon. And she hadn’t even hit Dexter with it. Such a waste. 

Behind her, Jeffrey wheezed and coughed as he choked on pain-filled sobs. With Dexter gone, he no longer felt that he had to hold them in. 

Skye collapsed beside him, momentarily unable to do anything other than stare at his shredded back. She wanted to touch him, to provide some sense of physical comfort, but she was scared to make it worse. Her hand lingered a moment over his purpling shoulder, then fell limply to her side. This time, when she started to cry, she didn’t bother to try and hide it. She was bawling like Rosalind had the day they had lost their mother, or like when Jane had had her heart broken for the sixth time. She was bawling like she had just been forced to watch her best friend beaten to near unconsciousness. 

And Jeffrey didn’t try to stop her, either. His own breaths were rapid and swallow; blood dripped from his side and pooled on the floor. Dark red puddles seeped beneath his skin. 

Each of his tortured groans sent a cold shudder through Skye like an icy wind. She pulled her sweatshirt over her head and gingerly dabbed at some of his deeper cuts with it. Jeffrey instinctively flinched away from her, exhaling from the sudden additional pain. Several more hot tears slid down Skye’s cheeks. 

“You – you’re going to be okay,” Skye promised. She wiped away blood the best that she could, but her jacket left behind pale streaks of it. His back was riddled with cuts and welts and bruises. Not an inch of it remained its usual color. “You’ll be okay. You’ll be fine.” Repeating it didn’t make it sound any less like a lie. To see him like this was every nightmare she had ever had tossed into one, single macabre incident that would seat itself in the worst of her dreams for the rest of her life. She pressed her sleeve over a particularly grisly gash underneath his ribs to stop the bleeding. 

When Jeffrey spoke, Skye had to lean down to understand his faint whisper. 

“I fucking—” Jeffrey winced “— _hate_ golf.” He tried to lift his head, but with his arms spread to the side of him, he couldn’t more than an inch or two. Skye gently pushed it back down. 

“Relax, okay?” She licked her thumb to rub away the blood drying on his face. He nodded and Skye felt him slacken under her touch. 

“How is your head?” Jeffrey asked weakly. 

“My head?” Skye had all but forgotten about the blow to her temple. It throbbed a little, but Jeffrey had far more serious injuries that needed attending to. She looked at him incredulously. “Jeffrey, it’s fine.” 

“Good,” he murmured. “You didn’t have to do that.” 

Skye studied Jeffrey’s already black and blue back, covered in red welts and still bloody, despite Skye’s best efforts. Incredulity was replaced with indignation. She set her hand over one of his and laced their fingers together.

“You don’t get it, do you?” said Skye. With her second hand, she brushed his hair back from his forehead, where it had been plastered against his skin by sweat. A single tear slipped from the corner of his eye and Skye wiped that away as well. “I’m honor-bound to protect you, Jeffrey.” 

“You’re not.” 

“Yes! I have to.” Skye tightened her hand over his. He squeezed hers feebly in return. “You aren’t dying on my watch. Capeesh?” 

“Skye, I’m dead either way.” He convulsed against a fresh wave of pain that rippled through him. He clenched his hand into a fist around Skye’s fingers. 

“Relax,” Skye reminded him as she fingered with his hair. “Breathe.” 

He hadn’t been. He let out a sharp exhalation and took several, shuddering breaths. Skye bit her lip, threatened by an oncoming rush of more tears. She swallowed them back and took a deep breath of her own. 

“Well you aren’t dead yet. If he wants to kill you, he has to go through me first,” she said adamantly. 

“He will.” 

“Then so be it. I will not do nothing while he tortures you, okay? I won’t.” 

Jeffrey sighed resignedly. “Okay.” It was hardly audible. 

Skye hadn’t expected him to surrender that easily, but the thought of Dexter continuing to abuse him was not a prospect welcomed by either of them. Still, she had to tease him at least a little. _“Okay?_ You concede? Already?” 

“Stuff it,” said Jeffrey with another wince. “Just know that if you die for me, it’s on your conscience, not mine. That’s a burden I don’t want to bear.” 

This was the most words he had strung together yet, and Skye sagged a bit with relief. She thought about saying he was mirroring her own sentiments about him, but if he was making jokes, she wasn’t going to bring the mood back down all the way – it was stuck so low as it was. Instead, she replied with, “I’ll take that guilt to my grave.” 

She still half expected him to chide her for that, but he laughed (strained, though not without humor). Skye could see that it was hurting him to do so, however, and that was too heart-rending to allow her to join him. She closed her eyes to block out the sight of him so beaten and bloody, but the image was seared into her eyelids. She saw it just as clearly with her eyes shut, so she gave up on that. 

“Maybe he’ll bite it himself before we have to worry about any of that,” said Skye. She wasn’t optimistic, but the idea gave her somewhere to channel some of her more murderous thoughts. “Coincidentally, I mean. Wouldn’t that be great?” 

Jeffrey snickered. “I hope his hand is ground up in the garbage disposal.” 

“Or he could fall on a knife and stab himself in the eye,” Skye offered with great enthusiasm. 

“He could sneeze while driving and swerve off a cliff.” 

“Or drown in the bathtub.” 

“Get hit by a bus.”

“Or a train,” said Skye, before singing. _“Set fire to his hair, poke a stick at a grizzly bear, eat medicine that’s out of date, use his private parts as piranha bait.”_

“What the hell are you singing?” Jeffrey asked, amused.

“‘Dumb Ways to Die?’” Skye answered. “You haven’t heard it?” 

“Nope.” 

This was a severe gap in Jeffrey’s middle school education. Skye still had the entire song memorized; she had sung it daily, much to the annoyance of the rest of her family. Had she really never sang it around him before? Or, horrified by her lack of musical talent, had Jeffrey blocked out the memory entirely? The latter seemed highly plausible. It was time for his education to be completed. Better to be years late than not at all. 

“Did boarding school teach you nothing?” said Skye. “It’s iconic.” She proceeded to sing the entire rest of the song for him. She had probably sung more in front of Jeffrey in the past twenty-four hours than she had for the entirety of their friendship, but he didn’t seem to mind; in fact, he seemed thrilled by this particular song, as every standard, civilized person should be. 

“Well that’s going to be stuck in my head for the rest of my life, thanks,” said Jeffrey, not sounding at all unhappy about it. 

“I may never sing another song again,” Skye agreed. 

Neither of them commented on the alarming likelihood that at least one of these statements would turn out to be true. 

* * *

The detectives were the only people who had left the kitchen the entire night. Jane had stayed perched on top of the counter, Nick was still seated in the corner of the room, Rosalind and Tommy had rejoined once Batty had fallen asleep. They were all exhausted, but not one of them was capable of sleeping. Jane was personally frightened of the nightmares that would come the moment she shut her eyes.

Jane stared at her phone screen and watched another minute tick by. It was 8:17 AM. Skye and Jeffrey had been missing for nearly twelve hours. Hardly a word had been spoken during that time, but not even Mrs. Tifton wanted to spend the night alone.

Jane's mind wandered to the investigation. There were still police scouring Arundel's grounds. She found their constant movement and the chatter of their radios both alarming and soothing. Sometime around six that morning, the press had caught wind of the story and arrived in droves, racing each other for the best photos and updates (there hadn't been any). Currently they were camped outside of the cottage and lined the outskirts of Arundel's prize-winning gardens. Jane thought them a swarm of obnoxious locusts.

In fact, even now they were clicking their cameras frenziedly and shouting – wait, that wasn't right. They had quieted down over an hour ago. Something must be happening. Yes, Jane could hear a car door slam just outside. The excited jabbering of the reporters increased to an all-out roar. A man shouted, probably at an officer, to let him through, for he was Jeffrey's father. Jane leaped from the countertop, her heart swelling, then breaking for what must have been the sixth time that morning alone.

The door banged open and Alec McGrath stormed inside, pale, but utterly raging. He slammed the door behind him with such force it rattled its hinges.

"Brenda," said Alec, ignoring everyone else in the room as he stared straight at Mrs. Tifton. "You bitch."

* * *

_**A/N: Here's the URL for Dumb Ways to Die because it really is a 10/10 song:** _

_**watch?v=IJNR2EpS0jw** _


	11. Chapter 11

Mrs. Tifton rose to her feet, eyes wide. "Alec! I—"

"What? Surprised to see me?" Alec snarled.

There was more than one thing happening here that was overall astounding to Jane. One was merely the sight of Jeffrey's parents in the same room, and speaking to each other, no less. Of course, she knew that Alec and Mrs. Tifton had been briefly married, but a part of her had always held onto a smidgeon of disbelief. They were so different; it was hard to picture a time when either of them had been drawn to the other, let alone enough to call it love. Ridiculous it may be, but it was easier for Jane to imagine that they had somehow spawned the same child without ever having known each other.

The second, undoubtedly more unsettling thing was for Alec to be in a state of such blatant, unbridled rage. In all the years that Jane had known him, she had never seen or heard about him being truly angry, but now he looked ready to call upon any god who would listen to smite Mrs. Tifton right where she stood.

Mrs. Tifton's mouth was flapping open and shut like a fish as she failed to procure the right words – or any words – to answer him with. Alec didn't wait for her to sort out her reply.

"Crazy story," he said bitterly. "The police woke me up last night to interrogate me. They wanted to know if I had abducted my son. You can imagine my shock, since I DIDN'T KNOW HE WAS MISSING!"

He shouted the last part so loudly Jane nearly shrieked and was overcome with the urge to check if the strength of that shout had knocked any wall décor out of alignment. Could that even happen? Jane doubted it.

Mrs. Tifton patted her hair to smooth it in an effort to appear less frazzled. "I did tell them it wasn't you."

"How generous of you," Alec spat venomously. He gestured madly around the room in a fury. "You told the Penderwicks. You _hate_ them!" Then, Alec suddenly deflated. His anger dissipated into exhaustion and grief. He lowered himself into a chair beside Mr. Penderwick and rested his face in his hands. "Why didn't you call me?"

Jane couldn't help but notice that this was a reoccurring theme between Mrs. Tifton and Alec. Later, she and her sisters would agree that if anything was as bad as not telling a man that he was a father, it was leaving a father to find out that something terrible had happened to his child on his own.

To Jane's utmost surprise, this outburst had caused Mrs. Tifton to cry. "I don't…I don't know why." Embarrassed, she looked around at the many people in the room with her, all of whom had witnessed that interaction unfold.

Alec spoke again. "We've had our differences, but I have _never_ done anything to deserve that."

Mrs. Tifton shook her head and stared up at the ceiling as she rapidly blinked away tears. "No…no, I know you haven't. Alec, I'm so sorry."

Alec looked as taken aback as Jane felt, but his demeanor toward his ex-wife didn't soften. He turned away from her, still seated, now aware that he hadn't said anything to anyone else. "I'm sorry about Skye."

Abruptly inspired, Jane hurried around the table to hug him. He stood so he could return the gesture properly.

"What do we know?" asked Alec. The apprehension in his question was easily detectable.

It was Rosalind who answered him, her spiteful bitterness quite plain. "That it's Dexter."

Alec pulled out of his and Jane's hug. "Brenda's Dexter?" He phrased it like she wasn't the one he was talking to, but he was looking right at her.

She nodded. "We're getting divorced."

"Yes, I know that. Jeffrey told me what he did," Alec snapped. 

Mr. Penderwick cut in, "Apparently, he thinks that was because of something Jeffrey did. Though why he thinks that would warrant this is…baffling."

It was baffling for everyone. Jane had read many a novel featuring a trivially revenge-driven villain, but it had always been an easily accepted reason when it was fictional.

Jane's thoughts were interrupted for the second time that morning by a media frenzy. This time it was full of shouts of "Detective!" Sure enough, Detective Cheng soon entered.

"Mr. McGrath," she said to Alec. "I was glad to hear you made it here safely. My name is Detective Cheng. If there is anything I can do for you, please let me know."

Alec didn't so much as glance in the detective's direction. His gaze was still fixed intently on Mrs. Tifton, and Jane thought it a miracle that she didn't wither away into nothing under the strength of such an accusatory stare.

"If your husband kills my son…" He trailed off. There was a threat there, but one he didn't quite know how to finish.

"Our son," Mrs. Tifton corrected him.

Alec laughed, but it was void of all humor. "Funny. He's never been _our_ son to you before, has he?"

Jane thought, with a confusing combination of pride and disapproval, that Alec had hit the jackpot for his retaliation. Mrs. Tifton flinched as though he had struck her.

It had never occurred to Jane that Mrs. Tifton might harbor a lingering bit of affection for Alec. She could be holding onto the idea that because they had once been in love, a part of her would always care for him. It was such a romantic notion that it didn't seem possible for Mrs. Tifton to feel any such way. Yet, as Jane studied her face, one so obviously full of guilt and distress, she found herself considering the possibility. Mrs. Tifton had been awful to Alec from a distance for years, but now, face-to-face, she was crumpling in front of him. Jane's lips parted in fascination.

"He's always been our son," whispered Mrs. Tifton. "Even if I've been too scared to admit it."

Alec stared at her for a long time without responding. Then, he squeezed his eyes shut so that he could pinch the bridge of his nose. "What does he want with him – them?" he asked finally. "Dexter."

Mrs. Tifton only shook her head, tears flowing again. Jane wanted to say something, but her voice stuck in her throat.

In the end, it was Nick who answered. "Just that he wants revenge, at least on Jeffrey. And that they think Skye was bait."

Jane was glad Nick was there. It was helpful to have at least one person around who could keep a level head. Jane had a fleeting vision of him saving the day, heroically striking Dexter down and returning both her sister and Jeffrey unharmed. She squashed it before it made her further upset.

"How can you possibly know that?" Alec asked Detective Cheng, addressing her for the first time without even the slightest form of a greeting.

"We recovered a video of the abduction from security cameras in the main house."

"Show me."

Detective Cheng folded her arms over her chest, then promptly unfolded them, perhaps deciding that having them crossed made her appear too closed off and detached. Not that it mattered, Jane thought she was enough of those things already.

"As I told everyone else here, it's best if you don't—"

"I don't care what you told them." Alec's temper was rising. "Show it to me."

"Mr. McGrath, all that will do is ma—"

Again, Alec didn't let her finish. He sounded angry and impatient. "Tonight I learned that my ex-wife's husband has kidnapped my son after you all accused me of doing it. You said to tell you if there was anything you could do to help. You owe me this. Show me the goddamn video."

Detective Cheng hesitated, then reluctantly agreed. She took her laptop from her bag and set it onto the table. Once it was open, she faced it toward Alec, plugged a USB drive into its side, and clicked a file (a downloaded video of the inside of Arundel Hall). It was still frozen.

Jane battled furiously with herself. On one hand, watching would almost certainly just increase her own suffering (and later, replay over and over in her mind). On the other, her imagination was already playing the cruelest of tricks on her by drawing up the worst possible scenarios. Of course, whatever the cameras had captured might provoke even further distressing thoughts and visions.

No. It couldn't be worse. There just wasn't room for Jane to come up with a reality worse for Skye and Jeffrey than the one she'd already created. She would watch. She had to. She couldn't stand not knowing.

Rosalind had come to a different conclusion. "I can't see this," she said. "I can't. Please, let's go." She was talking to Tommy. He listened to her without complaint, as he always did when Rosalind truly needed him to.

Iantha echoed Rosalind's sentiment and followed her and Tommy up the stairs. This left Jane, her father, Alec, Mrs. Tifton, and Nick. None of them moved to leave. Nick and Mrs. Tifton were both facing away from the laptop screen, but neither of them moved to get a better look at it either.

Detective Cheng took a deep breath. She appeared to have decided against discouraging them one final time, then effectively changed her mind all over again. "I really have to advise against this, for all of you. If you insist, I'll allow it, but I promise you, sometimes it's better to wonder than to be outright certain."

They all just stared at the detective expectantly. It was too late to turn back now. For Jane, the detective's warnings had only made her more determined to see what had happened. Detective Cheng was wrong. It was worse to wonder. When no one said anything, the detective sighed resignedly before she clicked her keyboard's space bar and started the video.

Jane stared fixedly at the screen in horrified fascination. It showed Skye lounging on a chair and talking on the phone – talking to _her_ on the phone. Mr. Penderwick stood to wrap a comforting arm around Jane's shoulder. Her father's hugs had always made Jane feel better, but this one was forced and stiff. It was further proof that nothing was right in their world.

The scene unfolded dramatically and quickly after Jane's conversation with her sister had ended. Jane saw a flash of movement dart across the screen behind Skye as she stood to exit the room. She saw Skye whirl around at a sound that the security cameras hadn't caught. Skye screamed, then fled. She knocked anything she could reach over, trying to keep the intruder at bay enough so she could outrun him. They were both visible only a moment longer before Detective Cheng switched to a video captured by a different camera: the one from the kitchen. Dexter had caught up to Skye very quickly after that. Skye was screaming something, and although she couldn't possibly figure out what it was from the video, Jane knew that she was shouting warnings to Jeffrey.

Jane's breath hitched as Dexter snatched hold of the hood of Skye's sweatshirt and dragged her back into him. Mr. Penderwick tightened his grip around Jane; his fingers buried deep into her arm. Alec watched with an intense, wildly calm expression on his face Jane couldn't read. She flicked her attention back to the screen. Dexter had a hand plastered over Skye's mouth now, and as she struggled against him, he pressed a knife to her throat. Skye froze.

Jane clapped both of her hands over her mouth. She pinched her nose closed between her thumb and her forefinger. If she couldn't breathe, then she couldn't cry. She couldn't scream.

Jeffrey appeared onscreen within seconds. His phone was in his hands, but at the sight of Skye (a mere swish of a wrist away from a grisly death), he discarded it on the table. Alec straightened in his chair. When Jeffrey raised his hands in a gesture of complete compliance and knelt in front of Dexter, a sob burst from behind Jane's hands. Skye fell, and Dexter procured a handgun that he aimed at Jeffrey. Jane bit hard into the knuckle of her pointer finger to keep from screaming.

When Skye dove in front of the gun, Jane did.

Alec reached across the table and paused the clip, capturing a clear image of Skye wrapping her hand over the barrel of the gun as she shielded Jeffrey. Jane wished he hadn't. Her heart beat faster as Alec twisted the computer around so that Mrs. Tifton would have a clear view of the screen. She looked for not even a second before averting her eyes, which were welling once again with tears.

"No, Brenda. Look at it." Alec commanded her. Mrs. Tifton peeked back at the screen. "That—" Alec, presumably, pointed at Skye. "Is who you think isn't good enough to be friends with Jeffrey. And she's ready to take a bullet for him." Alec's voice was scathing.

Mrs. Tifton's voice was pleading. "Stop it, please. Don't."

But he did. His finger slid over to Dexter. "Your high-class husband is the one with the gun."

Mrs. Tifton snapped the laptop shut and leaped from her chair, visibly shattered, but furious. "I am aware, alright? I know. I know I'm condescending and haughty and patronizing. I don't need you to tell me I'm a bitch. _I know._ " She had shouted away her tears. Her face (still streaked with mascara) had flushed scarlet with anger. "I get that I did this to Jeffrey, and that whatever Dexter does to him will be my fault. So don't bother blaming me, Alec. If Jeffrey doesn't make it, I'll do you all a favor and fucking kill myself."

She glowered at everyone, daring any of them to say something to her. No one did. Mrs. Tifton's face crumpled, but before she could cry in front of them, she left. She didn't run out; she walked, expertly hiding her pain and the weight of the burden she had taken upon herself.

No one spoke once she was gone either. They all exchanged uncomfortable glances. Detective Cheng slipped her computer back into her bag and retreated into a corner of the room. Alec rubbed a hand over his face, then went after Mrs. Tifton without a word.

* * *

Dexter had yet to return after several hours. Or at least, Jeffrey thought it had been hours. Time does move so slowly when you're in pain. From what Jeffrey could tell, he was no longer bleeding. The sharp, shooting pain he had been feeling had dulled to a throbbing ache (so long as he stayed still). He was, coincidentally, still flat on his stomach and bound to the floor, so his range of motion was overall pretty limited as it was.

Twice he had craned his neck to see if his back was as torn up as it felt, but that had sent waves of agony coursing through him and his curiosity wasn't worth that. He hadn't tried again. The constant, panicked look on Skye's face was enough to confirm the worst; it was probably better that he hadn't seen it.

Skye hadn't moved so much as an inch away from him. Her hand was still intertwined with his, and she kept switching between resting her other on his arm and playing with his hair. She seemed to think that touching him would comfort him, which it did, but it was also deeply unsettling coming from a girl usually adamantly against anything that might be described as tender physical touch. Basically, it confirmed that he was a dead man walking – or rather (since he could not, in fact, walk), a dead man chained up and exposed to whichever oncoming attack would be the one to kill him. He tried not to dwell too much on that fact. He could feel his heartbeat racing through the rips and welts trailing the length of his entire back.

"I have a confession," said Skye.

They hadn't talked in a while, and the air between them had grown heavier with each passing minute. Jeffrey turned his head to look at her, slowly, in order to minimalize the pain that it caused him.

"Oh god. What is it?" He tried to sound playful, but he only sounded strained and agitated.

"Stop moving. You're making it worse," Skye ordered, conflictingly sounding both bossy and kind. "Jane is the reason I came out today. She tricked me into it. I wanted it to be her so bad."

Jeffrey almost laughed, but then he got sidetracked wondering how things might have played out differently if Jane would have been the one to visit. Would his mother have left so abruptly? Probably. Something was bound to offend her. Would Dexter have attacked if his mother hadn't left? Would he have killed her?

Jeffrey didn't want to voice these questions to Skye, so instead he asked how exactly Jane had managed to force Skye to pack a bag and drive herself to Arundel against her will.

"She said I was scared to talk to you, and she didn't believe me when I said I wasn't. So I had to prove her wrong, naturally."

"Jesus you're so predictable it's not even funny." But he was lying, and his laugh gave that away. It hurt, but Jeffrey decided that it was worth it.

Skye denied her predictability, but Jeffrey just scoffed at her. Even she seemed to know she was kidding herself.

He almost didn't ask, but before he'd completely thought better of it, he said, "Were you? Scared to talk to me?"

"NO!" Skye insisted, but a sheepish smile spread across her face. "Only a little bit," she corrected herself, embarrassed.

Jeffrey pressed his lips together to conceal a smirk. "You admit it? Okay, _that_ wasn't predictable."

Skye nearly punched him, but she caught herself and halted her fist a hair's breadth away from his shoulder. "Sorry. Sorry!" She let her hand drop onto the floor next to his face. "Force of habit."

He almost wished she had hit him. He had enough bruises already, true, but he wanted her to stop treating him like the helpless victim that he was. It was humiliating.

"I'm always worried about something with you," said Skye quietly. "Your mom, or your ex, or… me." She paused. Jeffrey searched her face and found traces of guilt. "And this, obviously. It scares me whenever someone hurts you. In any way."

Jeffrey didn't know what to say. Skye was always so obnoxiously fearless. Hearing her talk so openly about being afraid…

Yeah. He was so, _so_ dead.

Instead of addressing that again, (it was getting a bit boring), Jeffrey changed topics entirely. "At this point the only thing that scares me is how Dexter looks as a blonde."

Skye appeared delighted by the switch. "Well, he only has one working brain cell, he probably wanted to look the part."

Jeffrey looked at her funny. "Is that…a blonde joke?"

"Yes."

"Skye. You're blonde."

Skye held her head high and proud. "I know that, but _I_ am a genius. I'm the exception to the blonde rule."

Jeffrey's eyes skirted over the back of Skye's wrists, which had been torn open as she freed herself from the zip-tie. The blood had dried over her skin, and by now most of it had flaked away. Maybe she was a genius, but she certainly wasn't being very wise. If she wasn't careful, she really would get herself killed. Jeffrey wasn't sure she fully understood that.

Skye must have noticed him staring because she changed the subject a second time. "Okay, can I ask you something?"

"Clearly."

"I made a wildly inappropriate observation," said Skye. "Considering the circumstances."

"You frighten me." He was only teasing.

Skye waved a hand, vaguely indicating at him. "When did all of _this_ happen? I mean, you're in really good shape."

Jeffrey's face broke out into a wide, amused grin. That was a second point towards Skye's unpredictability. "Why? Impressed?"

"I was briefly, yes, before I was traumatized."

"That _is_ wildly inappropriate."

"Just as I promised." Skye grinned back at him.

"I've always been in good shape. You just didn't notice." If Jeffrey didn't know better, he would have thought Skye was flirting with him. But, alas, he did know better. "Are you telling me I look good to distract me from the fact that my step-father just beat the absolute shit out of me?"

"Depends. Did it work?"

"Yes. Yes, it did." He was telling the truth. His spirits were considerably lifted.

"Then I will admit, yes. That was my brilliant plan." Skye looked so pleased with herself Jeffrey started to laugh, _really_ laugh, like he hadn't since before the abduction. Skye joined in, and though laughter hurt like a bitch, Jeffrey never wanted it to stop.

Their amusement didn't subside until they heard Dexter's voice and the clatter of the chains on the door being pulled away.


	12. Chapter 12

Batty had watched Alec arrive from her upstairs window. She knew she should eventually join the rest of her family, but she wasn’t quite ready to leave the sanctuary of her private bedroom. She wanted to process her emotions away from everyone else, all of whom worked through their own feelings so much… _louder_ than Batty did. Then again, they were louder than her on all fronts. 

Not even Rosalind had been able to soothe her, so Batty had feigned falling asleep so that her sister would finally leave her alone with her thoughts. She had sat herself on the windowsill, and by morning, there she still remained. 

This is how Batty had come to be positioned in just the right place to witness Alec pulling up to the cottage. After deciding she didn’t yet want to return to the panicked chaos that was the rest of the Penderwicks (not even for Alec), she had not moved from her seat. 

So when Alec had ran out after a thoroughly distressed Mrs. Tifton, Batty was still there in the window to see him. At first, she hadn’t paid them any mind. The both of them were flailing their arms around in an obvious display of anger and exasperation. They were arguing. That was all very normal. 

But then, in the middle of shouting something particularly animatedly, Mrs. Tifton swung her hand as if to slap him. Alec caught her wrist. He pulled her into him and Batty straightened up to lean closer to the window, brows furrowed. Mrs. Tifton sagged into Alec’s arms. He half hugged her, half supported her weight as she fell apart and truly, ugly cried in a way that made her face almost unrecognizable. Now he was – Batty thought surely she must have been mistaken, but no! He was stroking her hair. 

The overall strangeness of this interaction almost frightened Batty. She knew she ought to have other things on her mind than Jeffrey’s parents, but she had been so preoccupied with her worry and confusion, it was a relief to have something else to direct her attention towards. 

Someone knocked on her door. She tore her eyes away from the window willing whoever it was to just go away.

It was Nick. “Batty?” He asked cautiously. “Can I come in?” 

Batty nodded, then realized that he couldn’t see her. Feeling foolish, she jumped down from the windowsill to let him in. 

“Hey kiddo,” said Nick, once she had. “You holding up okay in here?” 

“Yes,” she said. Then after a while, “No? I don’t know.” 

Nick pulled a chair out from the white, wooden desk at the foot of the bed. He plopped into it and leaned forward, his elbows resting over his knees. “That makes two of us.” 

Batty asked him something that had been plaguing her for much of the night, something that she was afraid to ask any of her family members: “Am I not upset enough? It’s not like I’m not worried; I am. I just feel like, I don’t know, like I should…hurt more than I do.” Batty had cried once, when she’d first been given the news. It hadn’t happened again. 

Nick looked surprised. “Why would you think that?” 

Batty shrugged. She wasn’t sure. It wasn’t like she felt fine; she didn’t. In fact, she wasn’t feeling much of anything at all. She was numb. 

“Watching Mrs. Tifton, I guess,” she answered. “Everyone.” 

Nick smiled at her, tight-lipped. “We all grieve differently. Don’t measure your reaction with everyone else’s. You’re private. That doesn’t mean you aren’t upset enough. Whichever way you respond is the response that is best for you.” 

Batty knew, as always, Nick was right, but she still couldn’t shake the feeling that she wasn’t sad enough. She didn’t feel like she was going through something traumatic, though she knew she was. If this was traumatized, it really wasn’t all that bad. But there was no point in arguing with Nick Geiger about such things. That was a fight she could never win – especially when she already knew he was right, so she merely nodded instead. 

Nick didn’t look entirely satisfied with that, but he was also in dire need of his own pick-me-up, and was therefore in no shape to press on with an inspiring pep talk. 

“Do you want to come downstairs with me?” Nick asked gently. “It might help to spend some time with your family.”

Batty didn’t think that would help at all. What she really wanted was to play the piano. Then maybe she could think properly. Jeffrey could relate to that. Jeffrey could relate to Batty about a lot of things. None of her family members understood how much comfort she got from music, but she didn’t have the energy to argue with Nick about that either, so she agreed to accompany back to the cottage kitchen’s dicey waters. 

Upon reentry, she couldn't decide if she regretted her choice. She was almost instantly fawned over. Her father engulfed her in a hug that would have been nice if it hadn’t been so suffocating. 

“How are you, sweetheart?” he asked. “I’m worried about you too, you know.” 

“I’m okay.”

“Good.”

Batty pulled back from him. Right now, being hugged felt like being wrapped in a black sheet of suffering and despair. It only made her feel worse.

“I’m sorry I didn’t come up last night,” Mr. Penderwick apologized. “That wasn’t very empathetic of me, was it?” 

Of everything that had gone wrong the previous night, being left to herself for the majority of it hadn’t been one of Batty’s problems. She wished people would stop looking at her like she didn’t understand what was happening. She knew; it wasn’t complicated. Hard to wrap her head around, yes, but she had the idea that she wasn’t the only one struggling in that department. She knew perfectly well the severity of the situation. Maybe if everyone would stop acting like they couldn’t tell her what was going on, she wouldn’t feel so guilty about her lack of any considerable emotion. 

Rosalind was staring at her and looking very worried. Batty gave her a half smile in return. She sat down at the table, and everyone continued to stare at her silently. Already she wanted to retreat back into her room. 

When she finally decided to talk, she said what she was certain would do nothing to show them she comprehended the situation. “I’m staying in the same room as last time.” She swung her legs back and forth to ease her discomfort. “It hasn’t changed any.” 

Rosalind grasped onto this easy, lighthearted subject as though it were a lifeline. “I’m surprised you remember. You were so young.” 

“And the secret passage closet is still there?” asked Jane with a similar enthusiasm. When Batty nodded, Jane said, “And still ideal for spying?”

Batty thought that the only people at Arundel right now worth spying on were Jeffrey’s parents (their earlier interaction was still perplexing her deeply), but she didn’t expect either of them to sleep in the room adjoining her own. 

As if they had known Batty was thinking about them, Alec and Mrs. Tifton came back inside. Again Batty found their behavior perplexing, but not in the same way. Mrs. Tifton was hanging off of Alec, hardly able to stand upright. His face was rigid and white. Mrs. Tifton’s phone was in her hand. She tossed it on the table, showing everyone that it’s screen was lit up by the words “unknown caller.”

“It’s the third time he’s called,” said Alec gruffly. Mrs. Tifton let go of him and sat down at the table. A moment later, she stood up again, fidgeting uncontrollably. “We think it’s Dexter.” 

No one had yet told Batty that Dexter was the lead suspect, but she knew. She had heard Mrs. Tifton screaming about it for half the night. She had tried to snuff out her voice, even burying her head under her pillow, but nothing had worked. 

They hadn’t answered the call soon enough. It ended. There wasn’t a person in the room not staring fixedly at the phone. Jane walked closer as if to get a better look, though Batty didn’t know what her sister thought she was going to see. 

It lit up again with a fourth call. Everyone jumped. 

“Answer it!” Mr. Penderwick said with great urgency. “For Christ’s sake, pick it up!”

Mrs. Tifton reached out, her entire arm quaking. 

“No,” said Nick quietly, but with an authoritative air. “I’ll answer it.” He stepped away from the wall he’d been resting against and held out his hand. 

Mrs. Tifton was so shocked she looked almost affronted. “I beg your—”

“He wants to talk to you,” said Nick, sounding impatient. “Don’t give him that.”

Mrs. Tifton did not appreciate being told what to do by the likes of Nick Geiger. Batty had seem that coming. “I don’t even know who you are or what you’re still doing here. You don’t have the right—”

Nick interrupted, undeterred by her tone. “Not trying to be rude, but we can get acquainted later, and I don’t have time to explain my plan.” 

“Is that supposed to make me trust you?” 

“You should,” said Alec. “I think he’s right.” 

Mrs. Tifton stared at Alec, then dropped her phone into Nick’s open palm. Instantly he transformed into the bossy, but natural born leader Batty had always known him to be. 

“Mr. Pen, Iantha, one of you should call the detectives. Jane, give me your phone. And _please_ , no one say anything.”

While Iantha called Detective Cheng and told her to come as quickly as she could, Nick set Jane’s phone next to Mrs. Tifton’s on the table and opened Voice Memos to record. With a final, sweeping glance around the room he accepted the call, putting it on speaker so they could all hear. “This is Lieutenant Nick Geiger. To whom am I speaking?” 

There was a short pause, then Dexter’s unmistakable, drawling voice came through the speaker and reverberated off the walls. “You know that already, don’t you?”

Batty had been prepared for Dexter to be on the other line, but she hadn’t been prepared for the sinking cold she felt upon hearing their suspicions confirmed. It was like being dunked into an ice bath – no. It was like being dunked into an ice bath after drifting off in front of the fireplace, fully asleep. She shuddered against the freezing shock. 

“Mr. Dupree,” said Nick calmly. “I had a feeling you might be calling soon.”

“I want to talk to Brenda.” 

“She’s not here. You may talk to me.” 

“I don’t believe you.”

“Why’s that?” Nick sounded politely offended. “I’ve given you no reason not to trust me.” 

“I don’t trust cops,” was Dexter’s curt reply. 

Batty was momentarily confused, before she realized Nick had introduced himself as he had for a reason. Nick didn’t clarify that he was an Army lieutenant, not with the police. He wanted Dexter to think the police were already with them. 

“Mrs. Tifton is busy at the moment. There’s a lot going on around here. I think you probably know something about that.” 

“Do I?” Dexter said, his words dripping sarcasm. 

“What have you done with Jeffrey and Skye?” 

“I’ve done a lot of things.” He seemed to think this was funny. Batty’s stomach lurched. 

Nick shot a warning glance at both sets of parents in case they were tempted to say something. He kept his voice steady, bracing himself against the edge of the table so he could lean over the phone. “Are they alive?”

“For now.”

Batty was caught between relief that they hadn’t been killed and fear that they still could be. The two feelings almost counteracted one another and kept Batty in a now familiar state of emotional limbo. 

Nick closed his eyes and inhaled deeply through his nose to keep himself calm. It worked. “How about we make a deal? Give me some proof they’re alive, and I’ll hunt down your wife so you two can talk.” 

Batty swung her gaze over to Mrs. Tifton. She was quivering like she was outside in the dead of winter without a coat. She looked like she was about to speak, but Nick waved a finger at her aggressively to keep her quiet. She snapped her mouth closed. 

Dexter sounded amused. “Been taught how to negotiate, have you, Lieutenant? Okay. Deal.”

Batty knew something was wrong before anything happened. Dexter was too pleased with himself. She could hear the sound of clattering chains and heavy metal scraping against earth. 

Then Dexter said, “Move.” 

The next voice they heard was Skye’s, shaking but defiant. “Not if you’re going to hit him.”

Jeffrey’s response was weaker and barely picked up by Dexter’s phone. “Don’t bother,” he told Skye. 

Dexter demanded that Skye move once again. Nick cut in; now he was acting disappointed. “Mr. Dupree? You know that’s not what I meant. Let me talk to them.” 

Silence. 

“Let me talk to them or the deal is off.” 

Now Dexter seemed a little put out. “You can talk to her. That’s it.”

“Alright, I’ll compromise with that,” said Nick solemnly. Then Skye was on the phone. “Skye!” Nick exclaimed, a little too excitedly. He caught that and forced himself to sound neutral. “This is…um…Lieutenant Geiger. I just wanted to let you know what we’re all doing our best to find you both. Are you hurt?” 

Batty waited with bated breath. 

“I’m okay.” 

“And Jeffrey?” Nick asked. 

“He’s…” Skye faltered. “It’s not life-threatening.” 

Batty surveyed Mrs. Tifton with a wide eyed stare. Her hands were cupped over her nose and mouth and she was swaying slightly where she stood. 

Nick looked around at everyone’s pale faces, his own drained of color. “That’s the best we can hope for,” he said in a hoarse whisper. He cleared his throat. “Skye, hang in there, okay? Help is coming. You’re doing great.” 

“Alright, that’s enough!” Dexter had grown impatient. “Happy now, Lieutenant?” 

“As happy as I can be.” Nick certainly didn’t sound thrilled. 

“Is Brenda there?” 

“She is.” Nick motioned for Mrs. Tifton to come over. She wobbled a little as she walked around the table. 

“Dex?” she said, her voice shaking so much his name came out a bit garbled. She swallowed. Alec came up behind her and rubbed his hand over her back. It seemed to comfort her. Batty wished someone would rub her back like that. 

Dexter started mocking her. “How are things? You doing okay?” 

Mrs. Tifton was furious. Batty thought for certain she was going to rage against Dexter, precisely as he hoped she would. Alec wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her back from the phone. He whispered something in her ear. Mrs. Tifton spun out of his grasp, but did manage to pull herself together. 

“I’d be better if I could just talk to Jeffrey,” she said, impressively flat-tempered. 

“I’m sorry, but I don’t see that happening, love.” 

That cut her patience down so that it was paper thin. Mrs. Tifton gagged a little bit. She pressed her fist to her mouth like she was fighting the urge to throw up. “Don’t play games. Let me talk to him!” 

“No."

“WHAT DO YOU WANT?” Mrs. Tifton was trying hard not to cry. “I’ll give you everything! I can sell Arundel. Dexter, I’m worth thirty-five million dollars. You can have it.” 

“I don’t need your money, darling. I’m already wealthy.”

Batty thought she heard Skye telling Dexter not to be an idiot, which seemed useless until, when he spoke up, Batty realized that it had been Jeffrey her sister had been reprimanding. 

“Mother? Can you hear me?”

Mrs. Tifton fell into a chair and fumbled with her phone as she raised it to her ear, as if doing so would bring her closer to her son. “Jeffrey! Yes, honey. Oh god, what happened? Did he hurt you? Where are you?” 

The door opened quietly and Detective Cheng slipped inside, flanked by a uniformed officer that Batty recognized from the other night. She couldn’t remember his name. The detective stopped and analyzed the situation then mouthed, “is that Jeffrey?” Nick nodded, then stepped back from the table so she could take his place near the phone. It felt like it had taken hours for the police to arrive, but a quick glance at the microwave clock told Batty it hadn’t even been three minutes. 

“I’m fine,” said Jeffrey. Batty didn’t think he sounded fine, but it did seem like he was trying hard to play it off.” 

Detective Cheng gently pried the phone from Mrs. Tifton’s grasp and set it back on the table. She pointed at Jane’s phone still recording the call and gave a thumbs up. 

“He’s really n—” Skye interrupted herself disputing Jeffrey. “No. Don’t touch him!” An edge of panic was creeping into her voice. 

Again, Dexter told her to get out of his way. Again, Skye refused. He struck her with a loud smack. Jane shrieked. Batty closed in on herself fearfully.

But Skye didn’t sound afraid anymore, just determined. “He’s had enough. Hit me again, you fucking psycho.” 

Dexter’s laugh came straight from Batty’s nightmares, a manifestation of each of her demons. “Look at that, Jeffrey. You’ve got yourself an attack dog.”

“Come on, Dexter,” said Skye. “Hit me.” 

Mr. Penderwick dropped Iantha’s hand and paced the room. He gripped his hair and muttered curse words under his breath. Batty could think of a few curse words she would like to use herself. She’d never sworn even once in her life. 

Dexter contemplated Skye’s request, then obliged. Though this time, it sounded like he used his fist. Batty wrapped her arms around herself as if it would shield her. Rosalind hurried over to her and pulled her into a hug. 

“Is that it?” Skye taunted, despite her breathlessness. 

“Skye!” Jeffrey objected. This protest was much louder than anything he’d said before, and Batty could hear it straining him. She didn’t think he had it in him to raise his voice much more than that. “Back off.” 

“That’s right,” said Dexter as a nasty encouragement. “Control your bitch.” 

“Don’t call—”

“It’s okay,” said Skye. “I’ll be your bitch, Jeffrey.” 

Batty knew that things would have to have gotten exceptionally bad for Skye to say that. She hid her face in Rosalind’s chest and squeezed her eyes shut. It would do nothing to block out the phone call, but at least she wouldn’t have to see the looks on everyone’s faces. Rosalind held her tighter. 

Detective Cheng finally spoke up. “Dexter Dupree? This is Detective Evelyn Cheng. I have a couple questions for you.” 

“I’m busy,” Dexter retorted. He hit Skye again. Jeffrey was telling Dexter to leave her alone, which by the sound of things, he was not doing. 

“Are you going to stop this?” Mr. Penderwick bellowed at the detective. 

Detective Cheng didn’t answer him. “Mr. Dupree, let’s talk.” 

There was a loud scuffle. Dexter seemed to be trying to drag Skye away from Jeffrey. He was probably succeeding, until suddenly he shouted and swore, and the scuffling stopped. Skye barked a short derisive laugh. Then she shrieked. Not from pain, but the kind of shriek someone makes when startled. There was a nauseating thud, and Jeffrey yelped from unexpected pain. 

Someone was crying loudly. Rosalind was rubbing Batty’s back to comfort her, just as she had wanted earlier. She realized that the sobs were coming from her own mouth. What an interesting turn of events. How could she have been crying without knowing she was? She felt so detached from everything around her – even her own physical self it appeared – that she wondered if maybe she was losing her sanity. 

“I want to talk to you about Skye,” said the detective. Batty twisted in Rosalind’s arms so she could see the room again. Every Penderwick perked up. 

“What about her?” Dexter grumbled somewhat reluctantly. 

“She seems rather irritating for you,” Detective Cheng mused. “Am I right?” 

Mr. Penderwick spun around and glared at her, ready to protest. She put a finger to her lips. Batty thought she heard the uniformed officer tell her father to let the detective do her job. 

“She’s a goddamn nuisance, yes,” Dexter agreed, suddenly interested. Detective Cheng nodded as though the conversation was going exactly the way that she wanted it to. “Downgraded, have I? What happened to your lieutenant, Detective? I like him.” 

Detective Cheng looked up quizzically. When Nick flicked a hand to indicate that Dexter was talking about him, she merely raised her eyebrows. “I'm in charge of this case, he said I could talk to you myself,” she said. “You don’t strike me as a murderer, Mr. Dupree.” 

Batty made a face. So did several other onlookers. He certainly seemed a lot like a murderer to her. 

“You’re angry with Jeffrey. I can understand that,” said Detective Cheng, too kindly for Batty’s liking. It wasn’t understandable at all. “But why take that out on Skye when she has nothing to do with it?” 

“Well it wasn’t my first choice,” Dexter admitted. “But it worked in my favor for a while.” 

“Of course, of course,” Detective Cheng agreed. “But now she’s served her purpose. You don’t want her there getting in your way, but you don’t want to kill her. I know you don’t. So why don’t you let her go?” 

Rosalind gasped and Batty felt a similar hope alight within her. Mr. Penderwick seemed less like he was going to burst forth in a rage. 

Skye extinguished that new hope in a matter of seconds. “No. Fuck that, I’m not leaving without him.” 

“That’s not really your choice, is it?” Dexter spat at her. “I could do without you distracting me.” 

“I’m not fucking going anywhere.” 

“Oh, Skye, stop,” Rosalind breathed. 

There was a long silence, then Dexter said, “Alright, I guess I’ll have to kill you both.” 

Mrs. Tifton lost her self-control. “Son of a bitch!” She screeched. “Give me my son!” 

Batty couldn’t figure Dexter out. He was supposed to love Mrs. Tifton. Wasn’t that the whole point of all of this? Even though they were getting divorced, how could you love someone and cause them so much pain? 

“Jeffrey, I love you, baby. Okay?” said Mrs. Tifton, frantic. “We’re going to get you out.” 

“Sorry, love,” said Dexter with a sickening, sympathetic tone. “But you’re not.” 

Mrs. Tifton whimpered. The line went dead. The kitchen erupted into chaos. Whatever shouts, swears, or sobs they had all been holding back burst free at precisely the same moment. 

In the midst of it all, Batty was silent. Her tears had dried and she stepped back from Rosalind, in complete shock. She didn’t know what to make of anything that she had just heard, or anything that she was seeing now right in front of her. Only pieces broke through her daze. 

Jane’s head was in her hands. She was rocking back and forth on the balls of her feet and muttering unintelligible things to herself like she had lost her mind. Rosalind had sank to her knees, dissolved into tears. Tommy hadn’t moved to console her. He was standing stock still and staring at Mrs. Tifton’s phone, thunderstruck. Nick was swearing. 

Batty thought Mr. Penderwick might be swearing as well, though of course, his curses were in Latin. He seemed to be repeating the same one. Iantha was trying to calm him, but he kept flinging her arms off of him, and Batty could tell Iantha didn’t really have it in her to continue to try. 

But out of everyone, it was Jeffrey’s mother who stood out the most to Batty and snapped her out of her trance. At the exact moment Dexter had hung, Mrs. Tifton had fallen into Alec with a wailing scream that made Batty’s entire body seize up and shudder. Alec stumbled back as he caught her, looking like he barely had the energy to hold her up. 

“I’ve lost him, haven’t I?” Mrs. Tifton sobbed. “He’ll take him from me…oh my god.”

Batty was stricken. She didn’t think she’d heard any noise quite as haunting as Mrs. Tifton’s howling. It shook her down to her bone marrow; every bit of Batty ached with the emptiness such sorrow laid over her. 

Batty was so tired of tears (there were so many). Now Mrs. Tifton was crying about Skye. “She wouldn’t—she didn’t leave him.” She was gasping for enough air to be able to speak. “She’s protecting him! And I said…I said he needed better friends. I hated her!” 

Alec tried to shush her but she smacked his hands away and righted herself, no longer leaning on him for support. She didn’t dare look a single Penderwick in the eye. She looked at Alec, then at the ground. 

“I said she wasn’t good enough for him,” Mrs. Tifton’s dropped her voice to a whisper. She clutched her side, struggling for breath. “I’ve never said _one_ good thing about her. She had Dexter hit her instead and she’ll die for…and I never…” They never heard the end of that sentence. Mrs. Tifton cut herself off with such a loud wail Batty expected to find blood dripping from her ears. She was rooted to the spot, unable to think or move. 

The only thing Batty knew for sure was that she no longer had to worry about whether or not she was feeling upset enough. None of that mattered anymore because though she remained numb, she was absolutely, one hundred percent certain that _now_ she was well and truly traumatized. 


	13. Chapter 13

Skye had fallen on top of Jeffrey. Her glee over managing to bite Dexter's hand was short-lived; he had shoved her hard enough that she had tripped and toppled hard on to Jeffrey. It had hurt him enough that Dexter hadn't bothered trying anything else. Skye had heard Jeffrey choking on pain as she knocked the wind out of him and several of the gashes along his back split and bled all over again. She was furious with herself for losing her balance. If there was ever a time when her training as a soccer player could be useful off the field, this was it. But she hadn't expected Dexter to use her as his weapon. It was clever, really.

Fuck she hated him, with his goddamn smug expression and his goddamn arrogant attitude. And his fucking goddamn violence. Given the chance, she would rip his head from his shoulders, or shoot him in the face, or better yet, slit his wrists and laugh while he bled out right in front of her. Yeah, that was the one. She reveled in that vision for a while.

Skye had peeled herself off Jeffrey, her own back now sticky with his blood, but she hadn't stood yet. If she had to, she would throw herself on top of him again before allowing Dexter to lay another hand, foot, or club on him.

For the first time, Dexter didn't seem interested in abusing Jeffrey. All he did was unlock the chain around Skye's ankle. She'd forgotten it was there. Skye thought he looked drunk off the thrill of harassing Mrs. Tifton, and maybe Nick too. For the life of her, Skye couldn't understand that portion of the call or what Nick was doing picking up Mrs. Tifton's cell phone. But that was of little importance.

Dexter tossed his phone around in his hand and flashed her a look of pure contempt. "You really think you want to stay?"

Skye didn't respond.

Dexter chuckled. "Shall we test that?"

Skye's mouth suddenly felt dry, but Dexter made no move to hurt her. He pushed the trailer door open wide, so that sunlight streamed in and nearly blinded her. When she didn't move, he gestured at it theatrically. "You're free to go."

Skye was tempted; she'd be lying if she said she wasn't. She'd pay for that in hell. But the sun felt so food on her face and she was so hungry. Everything ached. She wanted to be home with her family more than just about anything.

"Just about" being the crucial phrase. She wanted Jeffrey to live more than absolutely everything, and "absolutely everything" trumps "just about anything." Somehow she was certain that if she left, his fate would be sealed, and she wouldn't betray him like that.

"So are you," Skye told Dexter with a sickly sweet smile. "You can show yourself out."

Dexter cackled. "You have some nerve, I'll give you that." He took a step toward the door. "You can have some time to change your answer. You better not be here when I come back."

Dumbfounded, Skye watched him go, leaving the trailer wide open behind him. She gaped outside for a long time, unsure if she was seeing things.

"Skye," Jeffrey whispered. "Go."

"Absolutely not." Skye crawled over to look him in the face.

"I told you if you got the chance to run…"

"I never agreed to that," Skye reminded him.

"Dammit, Skye!" He almost shouted at her. "Stop pretending to be a hero. Get the fuck out!"

Skye's mouth dropped open. She hadn't expected him to get angry. Argue with her, sure, but not like this. " _No._ "

"You're throwing away your life. Go. I won't forgive you if you don't."

"I'm not leaving."

Jeffrey closed his eyes and balled his hands into fists. "Fuck you." He said it quietly, almost to himself. " _Fuck_ you, Skye." That time it was louder.

Skye's cheeks flushed defensively. "Fine! Let's play this out. I leave, and I see where Dexter's been keeping us. He won't risk me making it to the police, so the second I'm gone, you're dead."

"I don't care."

"I DO!" Skye shouted. She pressed her fingers to head and massaged her temples, trying to calm her temper. "The problem is," her voice shook with frustration. "If you die, _I'm_ the one who has to live with it. How many times do I have to explain this to you? _I. Can't. Do. That_." If she was being honest, she thought she'd throw herself from his bedroom window before she suffered through that guilt for the rest of her days.

She'd punctuated her words with such finality she didn't think he would argue, but Jeffrey had never been intimidated by her the way so many others were. He argued anyway, "Did you hear him? "You better not be here when I'm back." Do you know what the fuck that means?"

Skye clenched her own fists over her hair, then unclenched them and dragged her palms down the sides of her face to illustrate her exasperation as plainly as she could for him. "It means," she took a deep, calming breath that didn't do shit to calm her. "that Dexter doesn't want me around for whatever he's planning on doing to you next."

"No, it means if y—"

"Jeffrey!" Skye snapped. "If you do not stop fighting me I will gag you with my sweatshirt."

That shut him up. "You will not."

Skye gave him a pointed look and whipped out her sweatshirt. She stuffed the sleeve between his teeth and kept it pinned beneath her palm to prove her point, then she let it fall. "I'm not bluffing. Please don't try me; I'd rather not. I do like talking to you."

Jeffrey raised his eyebrows. "You're really threatening me while I am this sad and defenseless?" Her wriggled his hands to rattle their chains.

"Only with the best intentions."

Jeffrey's mouth twitched in a closed-lip smile. "Not very fair, is it?"

Skye grinned, relieved he had relented. "Yeah, well. Who needs integrity? I'm giving up on it entirely.

"I hate you, you know that?" said Jeffrey, bitterly, though not unfondly.

"No you don't."

"Seriously, I really do. Despise your whole existence, actually." He was fighting a full smile now, contradicting himself. Then he added, "Thank you. For caring."

Skye wanted to tell him it was stupid to thank her for something that was as instinctive as breathing. Actually it was more like catching her breath. It made her desperate, until without realizing it, it became unconscious and natural again. She couldn't form the words, so she busied herself looking intently at his face. Her eyes traced over the line of his jaw, the curve of his lips. Much to her confusion, her pulse quickened. Without warning, she was wondering what his mouth would feel like on hers and how he would have kissed her if she'd let him. If he still wanted to.

She stopped herself there, beyond appalled. What was _wrong_ with her? Was she so traumatized she was losing touch with her feelings? With reality? And even if there was a teeny, tiny, molecular-sized part of her that was curious about kissing him (and of course, there wasn't), it certainly wouldn't have been worth thinking about. She buried the shame the best she could, positively disgusted with herself.

Jeffrey was looking at her expectantly. He must have said something.

"What? Sorry," she said, flushing and furious about it.

"Are you okay?" he repeated. "You're staring at me."

"Oh. I'm fine." She wanted to bash herself over the head to pound out her humiliation. "Scared, I guess."

Jeffrey nodded. "You don't need to be embarrassed about that. So am I."

He'd noticed her blush. Noticed it and vastly misunderstood it. His eyes suddenly clouded over with concern. "Skye, your face."

Skye touched her hand to her left cheek and winced. It was tender and soft where it was going to swell. "Don't worry about it."

"I wish you wouldn't do that."

She'd take as many punches for him as it would take to knock her unconscious. God, the way he was looking at her could melt her. Seriously, _what_ was going on with her? Jeffrey started trying to convince her to leave him again, which was enough to distract her from her distaste with her subconscious. Skye wielded her sweatshirt again. "I swear on my life, Jeffrey. I'm not kidding."

"I know, just hear me out." There wasn't any humor in his expression, but his earlier anger was gone and replaced by exhaustion. Skye wound her jacket around her hand and set it in her lap. Jeffrey visibly relaxed. "I tried to pay attention when he started driving and I think he got on US-7 South. Actually, I know he did. We drove for a while; we have to be in Connecticut."

"Two hours," said Skye. "We drove for two hours. I was singing "Tiny Dancer" the whole time to keep track." It was probably accurate enough. She did know all the words. "Twenty-one times before I started humming out loud."

Jeffrey was thrilled. "You did? That's genius!"

Skye smirked at him and shrugged. "I've been known to be rather brilliant."

Jeffrey rolled his eyes at her playful hubris. "I drove down to Yale last month. That took two hours. We could be near New Haven, or somewhere off the Long Island Sound. Bridgeport or Norwalk, maybe?"

Skye sat up straighter and tossed her sweatshirt away entirely. She wouldn't be needing it.

"So can you go see if there are any street names or landmarks? Then if you run – don't look at me like that." Skye had thrown him her best glare. "If you run, find a phone and you can tell the police where to find me, or approximately."

It was a decently good idea, but it wasn't flawless by any means. They couldn't afford misjudgments. "I don't know."

"Come on, Skye. Where's all that bravery when I need it?"

"Gambling with your life isn't brave. It's idiotic."

"But you'll gamble with yours," Jeffrey reminded her.

"Yeah, and that's okay 'cause it's _mine_."

"Just look."

Skye conceded. "Okay, but only because I'm about to pee my pants." It was true; her bladder did feel ready to burst. However long they'd been there was way too long to go without a bathroom break.

"Oh," said Jeffrey, a little awkwardly. "Have you not already?"

"No." Then after a moment's pause, "Have you?"

"Three times," Jeffrey said with a nod. "Oh, and when you fell on me I pissed a little then too."

Skye snorted. "Oh my god, that's disgusting."

"How haven't you? It's been like fifteen hours, are you okay?"

She shrugged. "I am a very dehydrated person."

"I'm officially worried about you," said Jeffrey. "Go, before he comes back."

Skye hauled herself to her feet, then hesitated and she looked down at Jeffrey. The sight of him still strapped across the floor gave her the strength she needed to listen to him. She stepped out onto the grass and squinted against the sunlight. Her worries about leaving had been a waste of her energy. They were in the woods, tucked away in a small clearing with barely enough space for the shipping container. The gaps between the trees were wide enough for a small vehicle, but there wasn't a road in sight. She peered around both sides of the trailer. The woods appeared to go on for miles. She could hear nothing that hinted at nearby civilization. Just in case, she shouted for help until her voice cracked. A few birds resting in a tree across the clearing took flight with angry squawks, but other than that, there was no response.

Dexter had done his homework. He'd probably started planning how to abduct and murder Jeffrey the second he'd been thrown out of Arundel. No one could say he hadn't been thorough. _Shit_. Skye could cry. They were so fucked. She inhaled deeply and held it in to combat her want for tears. She would not be weak. She didn't have time for it. She let out her breath with a sharp exhalation, her urge to cry successfully vanquished for the time being.

"Forget it," she said, walking back inside after finally, blissfully relieving herself. That at least brought her some level of comfort.

"You hardly looked!"

"There's nothing."

"He drove us up here, there has to be…" Jeffrey stopped when Skye shook her head gravely at him.

"We're in the woods somewhere and the trees aren't dense. He could get his car through, I guess."

"Can you walk around some more? There might be something farther back."

Skye sat next to him and folded her arms over her knees. "If you did it yourself, that would be one thing, but I am not betting your life for you."

"I would if I could," he contended.

"But you can't. Don't ask me again."

"You have time—"

"You don't know that, Jeffrey! If I don't find anything, or if I get lost, or if the police take too long to find you, you'll die."

"I don't think so," said Jeffrey quietly. "I think he wants to draw it out. He's not going to kill me that fast."

"How is that any better?" Skye snapped. "I leave and he tortures you while I _maybe_ get help?"

"Well, he is going to torture me. You're not going to stop him." He said it so matter of fact that Skye flinched. Jeffrey softened. "You have to know that."

Skye did know that, but though Jeffrey might not, she also knew the time was coming (as long as she played her cards right) when having her there would be the thing to save his life. She just hoped he would forgive her when it did. "I'll be with you when he does." She looked down at her hands. "You're asking too much of me."

Jeffrey sighed with clear irritation. He looked like he was thinking of an argument, but then he stopped and chuckled.

"What?" said Skye, a little grouchily.

"We really argue in circles, don't we?"

"Yes," Skye replied flatly. "It makes me dizzy."

"Alright," Jeffrey said with a final sigh. "I can't change your mind, so I'll stop before you pull out your sweatshirt again."

Skye deflated in respite. All frustration and defensiveness rushed out of her like a flood. Tears ambushed her again, and this time she couldn't stop them. They spilled over her eyelids and ran down her cheeks quicker than she could wipe them off.

"Are you crying?" He was overly sympathetic to the point of sounding amused.

"Shut up. I hate it." Skye sniffed and rubbed at her face again. "This is all your fault."

Jeffrey's mouth dropped open in bewilderment. " _My_ fault? What did I do?"

"I'm—I'm all emotional and sensitive and crap," said Skye, dismayed and revolted. She pointed an accusatory finger at Jeffrey. "You…broke me. I don't work right anymore, I can't st— _why am I still crying?_ " She spoke louder to drown out the emotion congesting her voice. The tears were coming faster, expedited by her frustration and how keen she was for them to stop. "Fuck." She pressed her fingers tight over her eyes to try and slow her crying through pressure to her tear ducts. "Fuck fuck fuck fuck."

Jeffrey was entirely baffled. "What happened?" He laughed a little through his confusion. "You won."

Skye groaned loudly and drummed her feet repetitively on the floor to vent her aggravation. She forced herself to steady her breathing and refused to look at Jeffrey again until she had gotten ahold of herself. She really was starting to lose her mind. Another day locked up like this and she would slip into total insanity. Or another day of Jeffrey locked up like this, since technically she could leave. Full-fledged insanity almost sounded inviting. Then she wouldn't be cognizant of her own intellectual collapse.

Daydreaming of lunacy did the trick; her eyes dried out. She addressed Jeffrey's previous comment after a long, steady breath confirmed that her crying had indeed ceased. "It's not a fun fight to win."

"And here I thought you saw every victory as something to be celebrated."

Skye lay back, flat on the floor, and covered her face with her hands. "I'm not that obnoxious, am I?"

"What do you think?"

Skye dropped her hands and glanced over at him with a smirk that even she knew was pitiful. It was a hard look to pull off with her eyes bloodshot and swollen from crying them dry. "I think it's a miracle you put up with me."

Jeffrey propped his chin up on the floor so he could look at her directly. "I could probably come up with a few reasons why."

Skye cocked an eyebrow. "Are you sure? 'Cause now you've got me thinking I'm the absolute worst."

"You're not as bad as you sound. Completely tolerable, I promise."

"Do it," Skye challenged him. She sat back up again and leaned back on the palms of her hands. "Give me a list. I dare you."

"Oh. Okay." Jeffrey was startled. "Uh, well. You're unapologetically yourself, and even though it irritates the hell out of me half of the time, I wish I was more like that."

"That's half a reason. At best." She sounded more confident than she felt. Her whole body trembled with unfamiliar nerves.

Jeffrey tried again. "You're brutally honest, and you don't put up with anyone's shit. Especially not mine."

"None of this is making me sound any less obnoxious, I'll have you know."

"You are obnoxious," Jeffrey promised. "But I like it, so it's okay."

"So it's only okay because _you_ like it?" Skye teased. "That's not very progressive of you."

"I thought this was a list of things that I find— of my favorite things about you. You can't ask for my opinion and then knock me for it."

His slip up didn't escape Skye's notice. Things he finds attractive about her: that's what he'd almost said. But he'd covered himself well, and Skye didn't care to bring attention to it. The truth was, she'd been wondering this for a while; she'd always stopped Jeffrey from telling her why he was attracted to her. It wasn't like it made any difference to her really, but hidden way in the back of her brain, there was a bit of curiosity about it. Right now, Skye felt useless and incompetent. It was selfish, but she could use the ego boost.

Purposely being annoying, she asked, "How's your tolerance for me now?"

"Waning considerably by the second."

"That's a victory I _can_ celebrate."

Humor danced across his face, which was bruised and swollen in places, but still alight from laughing. He had a wide, easy going smile that could easily make someone's whole day, and for Skye, it often had.

"You know how to get what you want," Jeffrey continued. "You're brilliant, and you're more driven and passionate than anyone I know."

"Except maybe you," Skye countered. She would have said the same thing about him. She didn't think she was passionate about anything the way he was about music. Close, maybe, but that was it.

Jeffrey forgot he couldn't shrug, and when he attempted to, the chains pulled tight so that the shackles dug into his skin. "Shit," he hissed. Then he said, "I'm a one track mind. You work hard at everything."

Skye fiddled with the chains to loosen them again. It was more difficult than she'd expected, but she managed. Her eyes lingered over Jeffrey's open palm while she considered grabbing his hand again. She'd initially done that to comfort him, but in the end, she had found solace in it herself. Now, she didn't know where the urge was coming from. He seemed okay.

But he wasn't listing anything else off. He was studying her.

"What? Are you done?" Skye joked, feeling subconscious. "That's a weak list."

"I'm waiting for you to stop me." He'd turned more serious. Wary, but intrigued.

"Keep waiting." Even as she said it, Skye thought she probably should stop him. She didn't want him to start feeling uncomfortable just because she was getting strangely sentimental. Still, she didn't outwardly change her mind.

" _Really?_ " His grin poked fun at her concerns. "I like sensitive Skye."

"At least one of us does," Skye grumbled. "I want to put her through a meat grinder. Right after Dexter."

Jeffrey shook his head at her, still grinning. "Give her a break, she's new to the outside world."

"Okay. We'll put Dexter through it twice first."

"Funny," Jeffrey said sarcastically, except she knew he thought it was. He couldn't fool her. "That's the other thing. I know I was just fighting you about it, but I love how much you've got my back."

Skye trailed her gaze over the cuts and bruises decorating his back. Jeffrey caught her. "How much you fight for the people you care about," he amended. "Sorry. Poor phrasing."

Skye didn't think she'd done that well at all lately, figuratively or literally. "I don't know about that one," she said, feeling guilty all over again. "It's hard to fight for someone when you're ignoring them for weeks."

"No one's perfect," Jeffrey said lightly, though his eyes held a heavier message. They told her to forgive herself already, he'd forgiven her. Skye didn't think she ever could. "And you didn't know what'd happened to me."

"The thing is though," Skye carried on. "After you told me yesterday, and I said all that stuff about being your best friend no matter what, I _still_ picked a fight with you for no reason."

"Alright, admittedly a pretty bitchy move," Jeffrey concurred, still suspiciously cheerful about everything. "Would you feel better if I took that one back?"

"In what universe would that make anyone feel better?"

"Good, because I would've had to lie. I stand by it," he said.

"Madness."

"The fact that you're this upset about it proves my point."

"Or – _or_ –" She repeated herself for emphasis. "It proves I'm just somewhat of a decent human being."

"Skye, you're more than decent," Jeffrey insisted. "It's not just decent to practically throw away your life for someone else. For me."

"I don't think you know very many decent people."

"Clearly that is true." Jeffrey spun his index finger in a circle, indicating the surrounding room to refer to Dexter. "But also – _also_ –" He mimicked and mocked her repetition. "Your standard for decency is too high. A lot too high."

Skye rolled her eyes with a conceding tilt of her head. That was probably true. "Way too high," she corrected him.

"I know. I was trying to sound quirky."

"Not quirky, just wrong."

"Can you see my hand? Look at my hand." He was flipping her off. Skye flicked her own middle finger at him while trying hard to hold a straight face and failing spectacularly.

"I did know I could call you," said Jeffrey, returning to their previous conversation. "And if I'd told you there was something wrong, you would've forgotten all the awkwardness and talked to me about it."

Skye nodded. She would have; she was confident of that, but it didn't excuse her.

"I was just embarrassed," said Jeffrey. "And I didn't want us to fix our problems just because you felt bad for me."

"That's –"

"Stupid, I know," he finished for her.

Skye wasn't going to say stupid. She'd actually been planning on saying that it was exactly what she would have done. If it had been her, she would have sat at home wanting nothing more than to talk to Jeffrey, but would not have for that very same reason. She'd want to work things out on everyday terms, because that was how she would know the solution would be stable, that it was long term.

Their fight technically hadn't been resolved when Dexter had attacked them, but Skye was comforted by knowing she had been fully prepared to admit that she had been stupid and selfish _before_ they were facing mortal peril together.

"When I really need to, I can always call you, and you'll listen," said Jeffrey. "Really listen, too, even though you pretend you don't."

"What?" Skye acted like she had zoned out.

"You're hilarious."

Skye had reacted in jest, but truth be told, she was tingling with something she didn't quite recognize. It felt like apprehension, but that wasn't exactly right. Actually, she felt a little buzzed. She was just realizing that she hadn't had any water since their dinner with Mrs. Tifton; the dehydration must've been getting to her brain.

"I wouldn't even know that you do, except you'll bring up these little, irrelevant details from a conversation we had that even I forgot. I love that about you; it shocks me every time."

Skye hadn't noticed that she did that. It was easy for her to listen to Jeffrey, automatic. He never bored her.

Jeffrey seemed to have read her mind. "And I love how we can talk for hours and we don't run out of things to say."

"Like that time I called after soccer practice to rant about Melissa—"

"And we accidentally talked until the sun came up," Jeffrey laughed. "On a school night like the responsible students we are."

Skye had had no regrets. She had fallen asleep during history class and received detention, but still she regretted nothing.

"Half the stuff you say doesn't even make sense to me," said Jeffrey. "But you geek out over whatever you want even if no one cares or gets it." He had a little half smile etched on his face for the whole conversation. "And I love how you'll ask me about music even though you know nothing about it and you never will."

He kept saying that: "love." It made her heart constrict and pound. Her blood pumped thick through her veins. She wished he would use any other word.

"I know you're passionate about it. That part I understand," said Skye, nonchalantly. She had to stop him. Her breathing was growing shallow to the point of hyperventilation. She shook herself to fight off what was becoming near delirium. If she was this dehydrated, the last thing she would be able to do would be come up with a sensible response to his fawning. "Now I am going to stop you, though. My ego is about to explode and neither of us want that."

"Probably wise," he agreed with a laugh. "So, speaking of "Tiny Dancer," then. I know you listen to all my Spotify playlists. Batty told me the other day."

"Traitor." Skye found herself flushing again. Though she would never admit it, she had spent a lot of time listening to his music lately. It was despicably mushy, but it made her feel better when she was missing him more than usual.

"Why hide that, you dork? I would have given you song recommendations."

"You didn't deserve the satisfaction," Skye said with a self-justifying wave of her hand. "I should have known Batty would be on your side."

"Everyone was on my side, Skye." He was too smug. Pulling off smug while strung out half-naked was an admirable skill.

"That is…" She had no comeback. "Disappointingly 100% factual."

"That's what happens when you're clearly the one in the wrong."

"Excuse me," said Skye, puffing herself in feigned offense. She threw his own words back at him in rebuttal. "I thought I always have your back because I care so much."

Jeffrey did the same. "You do. Just with an asterisk. Your words, not mine."

Skye had a retort ready on the tip of her tongue, but she held it back at the sound of movement outside. Her stomach churned. In spite of all her insistence about staying, she was terrified of what Dexter would do when he found her still with Jeffrey, ready to get in his way all over again.

Jeffrey had heard it, and he was too on edge. They waited in silence. Nothing happened. Dexter still had not emerged. Skye glanced quizzically at Jeffrey, but of course, he had no answers for her. She pushed herself onto her hands and knees and crawled over to the door. She gingerly stuck her head out and scanned the woods. She breathed a sigh of relief. There was a deer in the clearing, munching on a bush and watching her warily out of one eye.

She crawled back over to Jeffrey. "False alarm."

"Good," said Jeffrey. "I haven't mentally prepared myself for whatever he's going to do yet."

Skye hadn't either, and she wasn't going to bother trying. Nothing she did would be enough. Just moments before, she'd almost been able to relax. Jeffrey had that effect on her, so long as he wasn't driving her crazy.

"How long do you think we have?" Skye herself didn't think it was long, but she hoped Jeffrey would tell her something different. It would give her something to focus on other than her pessimism.

"Ten minutes, if we're lucky." There went that idea. "I'm thinking when he comes in I'm going to tell him to "give me liberty or give me death." Just for fun. It might throw him off."

"Please never ever ever ever say that," said Skye, horrified. "He might actually, you know, "give you death," and also, that is way too Jane of a statement for you. It's creepy."

"That's the idea." Jeffrey looked surprised. "It's from her book. The irony of this situation is too great."

"Which book?" Jane had many.

"The one I inspired."

"Again I say, which one?"

If he looked surprised before, now he looked positively floored. " _Sabrina Starr Rescues a Boy?_ How do you not know this?"

"You think I read Jane's books?"

"I can't believe you don't."

Skye hadn't read one of Jane's books since Sabrina had rescued a groundhog. Or maybe it was a beaver, she couldn't be sure. She probably should have read at least one. Jane's books were her biggest pride in life. Skye had never been interested in it before, but now she was regretting not looking at her sister's writing. She made a promise to herself right there: if she and Jeffrey made it out of this alive, the first thing she wanted to do when she saw Jane would be to ask her for a copy of each of her books.


	14. Chapter 14

The story broke that evening on the five o'clock news.

The cottage had started to feel crowded, which made everyone extra irritable. After much deliberation, Mrs. Tifton decided everyone should relocate with her into Arundel Hall itself. The detective had given the okay to do so, but the kitchen remained taped off as a precaution. Though unlikely, there was a chance they could still recover some new evidence. Or that's what Detective Cheng had told them. Rosalind didn't really believe her, but what did that matter?

She and her sisters were sitting in one of Arundel's several living rooms. The TV was on in the background while they sat in heavy silence, but no one was paying attention to it. Until, that is, Jane turned up the volume when "Two teens abducted from Berkshire Estate" scrolled across the bottom of the screen.

"Do we have to watch this?" Rosalind asked her wearily.

"I want to hear what they have to say," Jane quipped.

"You know what they'll say."

"If you don't want to watch, you can go." Jane didn't look at her as she turned the volume up even further.

Rosalind pressed her lips together in a tight line, determined not to get angry with her sister. "I just don't think it's the best thing for you right now."

"What you think isn't law, Rosalind." Jane set the remote on the glass coffee table and leaned back in her seat. Her eyes were glued to the screen, even though it was just showing a commercial.

Rosalind stared at Jane, then crossed her arms and looked to the TV herself. She hadn't said her word was law, but it wouldn't hurt her sister to pay a little attention to her.

"I want to watch," Batty said, much to Rosalind's surprise and displeasure. "I'm thinking about it anyway. I'd rather watch the news than sit around hearing Dexter hit Skye all over again."

Rosalind looked from Batty back to Jane, who was nodding in agreement and wiping the corner of her eye.

"I don't want to think about Jeffrey and all his not life-threatening injuries," Batty continued.

"Whatever that means," muttered Jane.

"Or how Dexter said he was going to kill both of them."

"Okay, enough!" said Rosalind. "I get it. I was there." She wasn't thrilled about it, but she didn't want to fight with her sisters. She didn't want her sister to repeat everything said in that phone call from hell either. She agreed with Batty on that front. It was running through her head enough as it was. She was tempted to leave. Who said she needed to stick around to watch the news just because Batty and Jane wanted to? But she was worried about both of them, and sticking together as a team was probably the best option for all of them, even after being outvoted about how they should spend their time. She didn't say another word.

The commercial break ended and the news anchors were back on the screen. Rosalind heard Jane catch her breath, and she slid across the couch and rested her head on Jane's shoulder. Jane flicked a watery glance Rosalind's way and took her hand. Rosalind gave it a little squeeze.

The anchor said, _"We begin tonight with breaking news from the Berkshire Mountains, where police are investigating the abduction of two teenagers from an estate in Framley, a town just outside of Great Barrington. ABC's Sarah Hoffman has been at the scene since this morning. She's live now with the latest."_

"Batty," Rosalind whispered. She beckoned her over. Batty curled up next to her as one of the many journalists out front appeared on the television.

" _Ryan, police_ have _confirmed that Jeffrey Tifton and Skye Penderwick were abducted from Stafford Street nearly_ twenty _hours ago. I'm told they were alone inside Jeffrey's home when they were taken. We have pictures of the victims, we're going to put them up to show you and give a description. The police are going to want plenty of help tonight."_

Photos of Skye and Jeffrey illuminated the screen. Rosalind thought they were their senior portraits. The last thing you ever want to see is a photo of someone you love behind a news anchor like that. It was like a snapshot from someone else's nightmare, not her own. They looked so happy in those pictures, so normal.

Jane swallowed. "I think I'm going to be sick."

Rosalind kept a firm grip on Jane's hand, but sat up just in case her sister did throw up. She rubbed Jane's arm and smiled sympathetically.

The anchor, Ryan, was describing Jeffrey and Skye's physical appearances. The longer Rosalind stared into Skye and Jeffrey's faces, the heavier her heart felt. She wouldn't have thought that was possible; it had already felt like it was a thousand pounds. Rosalind tore her eyes away just as the journalist appeared back on the screen.

_"We do now know that police are searching for Jeffrey's estranged stepfather, Dexter Dupree in connection with this attack. He was last seen driving…"_

Rosalind's attention drifted away from the television at the sound of voices rising from down the hall.

"Is that Daddy?" Jane asked, her own attention pulled toward the voices.

It was, and from the sound of things, he was shouting at Iantha.

"Don't tell me to calm down! Those damn detectives aren't doing anything."

Rosalind tried to tune them out. She looked back at the television. The journalist was wrapping up her report.

_"Police have broadened their search beyond Berkshire County throughout the entire state of Massachusetts, and there is talk of continuing into Vermont and Connecticut with the aid of state police and the FBI."_

Her father's voice cut in over the speakers once more. Jane muted the TV and the three sisters all exchanged looks.

"I had to listen to some creep beat my daughter! I'm not being unreasonable."

"You think this isn't hard for me? I understand how you're feeling. If you would just talk to me!" Iantha retorted. Her voice was much quieter than Mr. Penderwick's. Rosalind had to strain her ears to pick up what she said.

"No, you don't understand!" Mr. Penderwick shouted. "Skye is not your daughter, Iantha. She's mine."

Jane gasped. Rosalind too was astounded. She'd never heard their father speak to anyone like that, let alone Iantha. Jane stood up and walked to the door to be closer to the arguers. Rosalind reached out, thinking about stopping her, but she pulled back her hand. Jane was already gone. Rosalind looked to Batty, who tilted her head toward the door to tell Rosalind she should follow Jane. Rosalind barely hesitated, then hurried after her sister.

"How dare you?" Iantha was dangerously close to shouting. "Don't _ever_ think that I love those girls any less than Ben or Lydia. Don't you ever—"

"Please, Iantha," Mr. Penderwick said scathingly. "We are not in the same situation here and you know it."

"God, why are you shutting me out?" Now Iantha was truly shouting, and crying too. "We're going through this together."

Rosalind caught up with Jane, who was waiting just around the corner from the room their parents were occupying. She put a hand on Jane's shoulder to let her know she was there. Jane didn't look at her.

"No, we're not. Skye didn't leave. She stayed with Jeffrey, and she's going to get killed. None of that would be happening if you hadn't convinced me she should come to Arundel. So, no. We're not in this together, at all."

"You blame me." Iantha deadpanned. "Okay. What if we get them both back? They aren't dead yet. If Skye hadn't been there, Jeffrey would be. He only went with Dexter so he wouldn't kill Skye. Without her, Jeffrey would absolutely be dead. Be grateful he's not."

"You know what, Iantha?"

Something in Mr. Penderwick's tone made Rosalind afraid of what he was going to say next. One second later and she knew she'd been right to be.

"Dexter was Jeffrey's problem, not Skye's. So if I could pick a situation—"

"Finish that sentence and so help me, Martin!"

"I love Jeffrey, but in the end, he's not my kid," said Mr. Penderwick, as if that explained everything. "So given the choice, yeah, I'd have Skye home safely. No matter the cost. Don't look at me like I'm Satan."

 _Now_ Jane looked at Rosalind. Her face was contorted from holding back tears.

"How could he?" She whispered. She sounded heartbroken.

Rosalind blinked half a dozen times to fight back her own tears. She couldn't make any excuses for their father. She'd never seen him anything like this. Even when their mother had died, Mr. Penderwick had been nothing but gentle and understanding.

"Speaking of Satan," said Iantha. There were no traces of tears in her tone now, only anger and attitude. "You can go to hell, and don't come back until you're done being such an ass."

"Good for her," Jane said, sniffing loudly. "He's being a complete fucking ass."

Rosalind was getting nervous. She didn't want an even bigger confrontation, and Jane looked like she was gearing up for battle. She looked like Skye. "Don't go in there, Jane."

"I will go. He can be angry, we're all angry, but that was wrong."

Rosalind sighed. "Yes, it was." She took Jane's hand. The least she could do would be to go in with her. She could probably do to be a bit more like Skye anyway.

Iantha noticed them first. "Great," she said sarcastically. She gestured to them with a flail of her arm. "You had an audience."

Mr. Penderwick turned and went white at the sight of his two daughters.

"Don't blame Iantha, Daddy," said Jane. "It's my fault Skye came this weekend. She didn't want to. I manipulated her."

"Jane." He wasn't angry anymore. This was the father that Rosalind recognized. The family's rock in the face of hardships.

"If I hadn't been so nosy, it would been me missing right now, not Skye. So if Dexter kills her…" Jane's voice broke. "It's because of me."

Mr. Penderwick took off his glasses so he could wipe his eyes. "Of course it isn't. I would never trade your life for your sister's."

"No. You'd just trade Jeffrey's."

Mr. Penderwick didn't have a response for her.

"How could you say that about him, Daddy?" Jane said through her tears. She was looking at their father like she didn't know him.

He did have the decency to look ashamed of himself. "I…I shouldn't have. I lost my temper. I didn't mean it."

Jane was in no shape to answer. She was crying so loudly Rosalind was worried she would attract the attention of Arundel's other occupants.

"I hope you didn't," said Rosalind, filling in for Jane. "Because Skye would hate you for that. You don't have to like that she stayed. I don't. But don't disrespect her choice by saying things like that."

"You're right," said Mr. Penderwick. "I'm so sorry, daughters."

Rosalind waited for him to apologize to Iantha. He didn't.

"When did my girls grow into such wise young women?" He smiled sadly at them. "It's a good thing you're around to keep your old fool of a father in check."

Jane gave their father a forgiving hug, but Rosalind was surprised to find herself not quite ready for that step. She didn't like that her father hadn't given Iantha an apology. It worried her. Iantha deserved one far more than she and Jane. Almost as much as Jeffrey did, though he didn't know it, thank heavens. Mr. Penderwick was looking at Rosalind as though expecting a hug from her too. Well he wasn't going to get one. Rosalind pulled her phone from her back pocket to keep herself busy.

One hundred twenty seven notification. Fifty-four of which were from her best friend, Anna. She had called six times and then sent Rosalind a stream of supportive texts. The rest were from her school friends, both from high school and college. There was also a missed call from Aunt Claire, and a text from Churchie that said she was leaving from Boston and would be at Arundel later that evening. How had they all gotten word so fast? They can't all have been paid attention to the news. Rosalind herself hardly ever did. This was too overwhelming for her. She shut her phone off and slid it back in her pocket without replying to anyone.

"Iantha," said Rosalind, finding that once again she could only think of one person who's presence she might be able to stand. "Do you know which room Tommy is staying in?"

The Geigers had planned on leaving a couple hours earlier, but Iantha had insisted they stay, and since Nick had been able to get Mrs. Tifton to talk to Jeffrey (no matter how cursory the conversation had been), she had agreed with Iantha whole-heartedly.

"Yes, it's…" Iantha paused for a second, wracking her brain. "On the second floor. Take the staircase by the music room and it'll be the third door on your right."

Rosalind thought she sounded shaken. She gave Iantha a quick, grateful hug and then headed out of the room without even a glance back at her father. She could feel his eyes boring into her back and she hoped he was feeling truly abashed. This version of her father was not one she could readily accept. She didn't have to interact with him at all if she didn't want to, and Rosalind certainly did not want to.

She paused outside of Tommy's door, unsure of what to say to him. They hadn't done much talking. Mostly they would sit in silence, and if Rosalind cried too loud or for too long, Tommy would hug her until she stopped. She hadn't needed words. Just having him there was enough to comfort her. There was no answer when she knocked. She tried the door. It was unlocked, so she let herself in.

So that's why he hadn't answered: he was in the shower. Rosalind sat on the edge of the bed to wait for him. She needed a shower herself. The problem was if she took a shower, her thoughts would race and plague her with depressing and nightmarish images that would send her into an emotional tailspin. She needed a distraction. She was worried enough already, the last thing she needed was that sort of breakdown. Crying on the floor of a shower hurt differently. Worse.

Tommy could distract her. It wasn't like they'd never showered together before. And weren't boys supposed to always be down for that sort of thing? It didn't have to mean anything.

It was stupid. Rosalind knew that, but that didn't stop her from stripping out of her clothes and slipping into the bathroom. It wasn't a crime for her to want to feel something good for a change. She could explain that to him after. He'd understand.

She didn't know why she was so nervous. She needed the comfort of familiar, and Tommy was familiar. She pulled back the curtain and stepped into the stream of water before she had time to change her mind.

Rosalind would regret that forever. When she wiped the water from her eyes and brushed back her hair, it wasn't Tommy she was face to face with. It was Nick. He snorted water up his nose and choked. Rosalind screamed. She didn't move right away, too shocked for proper brain function. She stammered unintelligible sentences and closed her eyes to block out Nick, who was expectedly (but no less horrifyingly) just as naked as she was.

"I hope you're looking for my brother," said Nick. He, infuriatingly, seemed to think her mistake was quite hilarious.

"Sorry, sorry! I'm sorry," said Rosalind, still mortified to the point of hardly being able to speak. "Um, carry on." Eyes still tightly shut, she knocked against the wall as she stumbled out and fumbled for the towel hanging over a rack.

"Rosy! Hold on." Nick followed her out into the bedroom. She had taken the only available towel, so Nick had wrapped himself in the bathmat and was dripping all over the carpet. "Can we talk about this?"

"No. Nope. No, we can't." Her face was on fire; she could feel it radiating heat. "There isn't anything to say, and you are wearing a rug. No."

He almost laughed, but stopped himself. "I'm going to put clothes on." He jerked his thumb back toward the bathroom. "Please stay here."

"I don't need you to parent me, Nick!" Rosalind called after him. He shut the bathroom door behind him without a word. Rosalind checked her reflection in the closet mirror. She was beet red, almost purple. She fanned her face to try to cool her flaming cheeks. She had to leave Arundel, that was her only option. She'd move back to Rhode Island. She couldn't face either of the Geigers again. Ever.

She dried herself and pulled on her clothes. She was going to make a run for it. She shut the bedroom door behind her just as she heard Nick ask if she was dressed. She glanced back as she hurried down the hall. Nick had followed her out. He caught up to her with ease.

"Damn you," said Rosalind with a huff.

"Uh huh. I've been told I'm a real dick," said Nick. He grabbed her elbow and steered her over to the wall. He took a seat and pulled her down with him. Rosalind settled in beside him and straight ahead at a photo on the opposite wall. It was Mrs. Tifton holding Jeffrey when he was a toddler and smiling as he poked at her cheek. She looked happier than Rosalind could have ever imagined her being.

"You can't be doing that," said Nick. Rosalind could feel him looking at her, and her blush returned fiercely. How long would it be before she could look at him without feeling humiliated? Fifty years probably, minimum.

"I can do what I want," she replied with a stubborn edge to her words. She cringed after she said it, even more embarrassed.

"O-kay…" He was startled by her attitude, so he pitched her one of his own. "Sure, you can. But how about you don't break Tommy's heart while you're at it? Again, by the way."

Rosalind shifted uncomfortably.

Nick sighed and his face softened. "You can't fuck the pain away, Rosalind."

She took a shaky breath. "I just wanted to feel good again. For a bit."

Nick nodded like he understood. "Good is in short supply around here."

Rosalind chewed on the inside of her cheek and looked back at the picture of young Jeffrey and his mother.

Nick took her silence as an invitation to continue. "I get it, but as Tommy's older brother, I'm asking you not to use him for a quick fuck so you can feel better for a few minutes."

"Always so explicit." Rosalind tried to smile, but her facial muscles were stiff and unresponsive.

"It's part of my charm."

"Actually it's one of the many things I hate about you." It wasn't really. He did have a knack for riling her up, but he was also surprisingly easy to talk to. Almost as easy as Tommy was, when they weren't in such an awkward place. Somehow, Nick made her feel better. Soon Rosalind was telling him about watching the story on the news, and all her friends reaching out to say how sorry they were, and about how whoever decided that "I'm sorry" was the right thing to say to people hurting was so, so wrong. She told him about her father yelling at Iantha, and Jane blaming herself for evening happening to Skye, and about what Mr. Penderwick had said about Jeffrey.

"Wow," said Nick once she had finished. "I can't see your dad saying any of that."

"Until today, neither could I."

Nick draped an arm around her shoulders and gave her a squeeze. "He'll cool off. That phone call did a number on him."

"I don't care," said Rosalind. "You didn't hear him. He practically said he wished Jeffrey had just died."

"Give him time, you'll see," said Nick. Then he slapped his hand onto Rosalind's knee resolutely. "And promise me that you'll talk to Tommy."

"Please don't tell him what happened," Rosalind begged. She hid her face behind her knees, which were pulled up to her chest.

"Believe me, I will not. He would be less than thrilled."

"That we saw each other naked? Because I too am less than thrilled about that," Rosalind grimaced. She would be eighty-five and the memory would still be way too fresh.

"If it's any consolation, I barely saw anything," said Nick. "Chest up, that's it."

"It isn't," said Rosalind. "I saw everything."

Nick raised an eyebrow.

_"Everything."_

"You shouldn't have looked," Nick teased, jumping to his feet.

"I was expecting Tommy!" Rosalind reiterated. "I shouldn't have gotten in at all." She was feeling embarrassed again, but it this time it was a lot lighter, less like shame.

"Right you are." Nick gave her a thumbs up to demonstrate his approval. As he walked back to him room, he called back to her, "Talk to Tommy, Rosalind."


	15. Chapter 15

The first thing Dexter did upon finding Skye in the trailer was stick a gun in her face. 

“Let’s see,” he said, almost jovially. He was full of energy, like he’d had too much coffee. “Is this thing more useful when I point it at you?” Then, he moved his hand so the gun was directed at Jeffrey’s head. “Or at him?” 

Skye tried to stop it, but she felt the panic flash across her face. 

Dexter smirked. “Thought so.” He knelt down to pull Jeffrey’s head back and jammed the gun under his jaw. Jeffrey jerked away from it, but Dexter grabbed his chin and forced him against the gun’s muzzle. “Get back,” he spat at her. 

Skye noticed with a pang of terror that Dexter had his finger over the trigger. She’d never shot a gun in her life, but she knew the number one rule of gun safety was to never rest your finger on the trigger. It was all too easy for it to slip. 

“Okay, okay!” Skye backed away quickly. “Don't touch the trigger.” 

Dexter tapped his finder against it lightly, just to mess with her. A small squeak escaped from the back of Skye’s throat. He ordered her to sit at the opposite side of the room. Skye listened without another word. She sat with her back against the corner, unable to look anywhere but at Dexter’s trigger finger. 

“Fantastic,” he said with a toothy smile. He took the gun from Jeffrey, then fired it in Skye’s direction. She shrieked. The bullet lodged in the wall less than six inches from her left ear. 

In a frenzied panic, Jeffrey fought to look behind him at where Skye was sitting. “Did you just—”

“No,” said Skye. 

Jeffrey dropped back onto the floor so he could relax and breathe again.

“That’s your warning,” said Dexter, sounding dangerous. “Don’t move.” 

Skye didn’t think she’d be able to move even if she wanted to. She was frozen to the spot with fright. Dexter left momentarily, then returned with a wooden patio chair. He dragged it across the floor so that it sat between Skye and Jeffrey. Dexter waved the gun at Skye like he had to remind her he had it. He winked at her. Skye sank her teeth into her lip to hold back any questions or retorts. 

Dexter unlocked Jeffrey’s chains. He choked as Dexter pulled him to his feet by the collar around his neck. He stumbled and fell to his hands and knees after only a single step, too weak to carry his own weight. Dexter’s foot caught Jeffrey in his diaphragm and knocked him flat on his stomach. The impact took the air clean out of him. “Get up,” Dexter sneered at him. 

“Kind of counterproductive to kick me down, isn’t it?” said Jeffrey, once he had regained the ability to breathe. He hoisted himself back onto all fours, his arms shaking. He looked at Dexter like he expected him to kick him again, but it appeared that Dexter agreed that it would be counterproductive. 

Skye tasted blood. She ran her tongue over her lip and could feel where her teeth had cut into her skin. Dexter hauled Jeffrey back up, but again he fell after his first step. 

Dexter growled angrily, “Walk, you lazy—”

That Skye couldn’t put up with. “He’s starving!” She shouted at Dexter. “He hasn’t eaten or had any water in almost a day. He’s not lazy, he’s sick!” 

Dexter thought about this while Jeffrey forced himself to stand for the third time. Skye half expected him to pass out. 

“You seem fine,” Dexter grumbled. 

“You tortured him!” And Skye wasn’t exactly fine either. She was feeling dizzier by the minute. It didn’t help that she probably had a concussion; Dexter had struck her in the head enough times for one. Her vision had blackened when she’d stood up herself. Her stomach had stopped growling hours ago; instead it constantly ached. She hardly felt it anymore. 

“You’ll kill him,” said Skye. “I know that’s your goal, but is this really how you want to?” It sickened her to say it. It wasn’t the best thing she could have said to convince him, but it was all she could think of. 

Dexter shoved Jeffrey over. He kicked him again, twice, so that he doubled up on the ground. “If you’re not in that chair when I’m back, I’ll empty my clip into Skye.” He slapped the barrel of his gun against Jeffrey’s cheek. “You’ve got thirty seconds.” 

Jeffrey didn’t say it – he couldn’t – but when he looked over at her, completely desperate, Skye knew he needed her to help him. She took his hand and pulled him up. As he fell into her, Skye wrapped her arm underneath his shoulders to hold him the best she could. He recoiled from the pressure against the gashes on his back. 

“I know, I’m sorry,” said Skye, finding her face wet with tears again. She hated to hurt him. “I have to.”

Jeffrey nodded with a tight grimace. He was slick with sweat. They were almost there. He nearly collapsed again right in front of the chair, but Skye righted him and lowered him into it. He clenched his teeth as his back settled against the chair’s wooden rungs, but after the initial impact, he was able to relax. 

Dexter stood in the doorway. He had a grocery bag with him, which meant he had known he would have to feed them soon, but had waited for the fun of watching them starve. Casually, like he was asking which of them would select a movie for them all to watch, he said, “So do you want to tie him to it or should I?”

After a moment of shocked stammering, Skye told him she would do it. She’d be more careful than Dexter would be. Maybe she could hurt Jeffrey less. 

Dexter, as it turned out, thought the same. “I’m kidding.” He prodded at her back with his gun. “You’re bad at it.” 

Skye held her breath. She held up her hands, slowly, so not to provoke Dexter. She scooted back so she was out of his way and tried not to hate herself for it. She battled the temptation to try and wrestle the gun away from Dexter. She wouldn’t be able to manage it. Her mouth was so dry her tongue felt like a foreign, unwelcome intruder. Her throat felt like she had swallowed a ball of cotton and it had stopped halfway down. Any sudden movements like lunging for a weapon and she’d likely faint outright. She didn’t think Dexter was bluffing either; it didn’t matter if she fainted or not, a foolish attempt like that would land a bullet in Jeffrey’s brain. She forced herself to play submissive. 

The shackles were still locked around Jeffrey’s wrists, and Dexter used their chains to bind them to the chair’s armrests. After Jeffrey’s ankles had been tied to the legs of the chair, Dexter kicked the bag toward Skye. The hunger pangs in her stomach intensified. She reached uncertainly for it, and when Dexter didn’t say anything, she rummaged through the contents and tried her best not to seem too excited. Granola bars, a packet of Pop-Tarts, two bottles of water, and a loaf of bread. How nutritional. 

Dexter was on his phone; he kept an eye of her, but he didn’t seem happy about it. Skye cracked open a bottle first and gingerly poured water into Jeffrey’s mouth. She was careful not to spill, but it was hard not to. She brushed the water away and set the bottle on the ground. She didn’t notice her heart rate increase as her thumb swiped across his bottom lip. 

He’d hardly finished a granola bar and a single bite of Pop-Tart when he told her he couldn’t eat anymore. 

“Suck it up, you have to,” she said gently but forcefully. She stuck another bit of the Pop-Tart in his mouth, which he swallowed with much reluctance. 

Skye gave him the rest of his water, then chugged down half of her own before she made him finish his Pop-Tart. She ate the other one herself, along with two slices of bread. She could only get Jeffrey to eat one. Skye paused with her water bottle at her lips as Dexter’s phone chimed “Sweet!” and “Divine!” Listening now, she easily recognized the music in the background. He was playing Candy Crush. _Un_ believable. She took one more sip, then held the bottle up for Jeffrey.

He shook his head. “It’s yours.” 

“I don’t want it.” 

Jeffrey didn’t argue with her a second time. 

When Skye had discarded the empty bottle along with the first, Dexter looked up from his game. “Finished? Lovely.” He put his phone in his pocket and ordered Skye to remain where she was. 

“Leave her alone,” said Jeffrey. There wasn’t much heart behind his plea. He didn’t have the energy for it. “Please.” 

Dexter bound Skye’s hands behind her with a length of rope. He coiled it around her wrists have a dozen times before cinching it between them and tying the knot. It left her no chance of wriggling free. She tested it anyway. The rope bit into her skin, already her fingertips were starting to tingle. 

Dexter kept his gun in his hand the whole time. Skye didn’t know how, but she felt it brush against the side of her hip. Jeffrey looked conscience-stricken, his jaw hovering open like he was going to say something to her – apologize, likely. Skye almost undetectably shook her head at him. He exhaled weakly through his nose and let his head fall against the back of the chair. Dexter pushed her forward onto her face. 

“If you hurt her—”

“Don’t threaten me, Jeffrey. It’s pathetic.” He’d moved on to tying Skye’s ankles now. She lay limp and let him bind her without a fight, restraining her anger the best she had in her entire life. It took everything out of her. Survive this, and she just might consider it her biggest accomplishment. She’d give herself an infinite pass for losing her temper from that day on. 

There were two long ends of rope remaining once her ankles were bound, and Dexter looped them around her shoulders. He yanked them tight so that her legs bent at the knees and her feet were pulled toward her head. He knotted the ends around both her ankles and her wrists. When he stood back to admire his handiwork, Skye could just barely see his sly smile out of the side of her eye. She was trussed up like an animal, incapable of moving any of her limbs. Her back ached; the ropes around her shoulders were so tight they lifted them a couple inches off the ground. 

Dexter leaned over her so his face was close to hers. “Try to save him now,” he taunted her. He spit in her ear. Skye swallowed her nausea and wiped it on the carpet. 

People died like this. Skye remembered a news story about a man getting asphyxiated in a police hogtie – where was that? Tennessee? North Carolina? What did it matter, she was without a doubt tied up more than that poor man had been. She saw Jeffrey’s face and wiped away her grimace. 

“My choice” she mouthed at him. He broke eye contact with her to hide the tears that were welling up. He mouthed back that this was his fault. 

Skye was distracted from insisting it wasn’t for the seventeenth time by Dexter pulling open the wire dog crate full of a variety of blades and tools – the one she’d foolishly been hoping he’d either forgotten about or had merely put up for show. Jeffrey was decidedly not watching him. 

Dexter looked through a box until he found a pair of pliers. Skye was aware of the pointlessness of it, but still she fought her binds. And try as she might not to be, when Dexter used his pliers to pry up Jeffrey’s thumbnail, she was so hysterical it was a miracle she didn’t asphyxiate right there. 

***  
  


Unlike her sisters, Batty didn’t care to eavesdrop on their parents fighting. She wanted to find the music room. Maybe then she could organize her thoughts. Arundel was a maze, she wandered through four hallways before she found it. The piano was in the corner willing her toward it, but she stopped. Voices were coming from a nearby room. In such a large house, why was everyone intent on being precisely where she wanted to be? Was it too much to ask for some time alone? 

These voices weren’t hostile like Mr. Penderwick’s and Iantha’s had been. It was Mrs. Tifton and Alec, and they were just talking. Batty looked back at the piano, suddenly less irritated by the close presence of other people. She strayed toward the room where Jeffrey’s parents appeared to be, strangely, hanging out. She hid behind the door and peaked through the crack by the hinges. 

Mrs. Tifton handed Alec a photograph. He rubbed his hand across his chin and stared at it for a long time. When he set it on the coffee table, his hands were shaking. 

“Churchie just gave me that. I guess she took it last night,” said Mrs. Tifton. Batty hadn’t been aware that Churchie was at Arundel, but the idea warmed her. Mrs. Tifton leaned forward to look at the picture again. “She really made him happy, didn’t she?” 

“She _makes_ him happy, Brenda. Present tense.” 

“Right.” She put her face in her hands. They were quiet for so long Batty almost went back to the music room, but something held her there. Suddenly, the fact that they’d once been married all but made sense to her. It fascinated her.

“What’s she like?” asked Mrs. Tifton. “She’s been Jeffrey’s best friend for years and I don’t know her at all.” 

“You know some things.” 

“Hmph. I know she’s stubborn, she has a temper. I know she hates me.” 

“She’s the best person Jeffrey could have with him right now,” said Alec. “That’s what matters.” 

This seemed to console Mrs. Tifton, but Batty didn’t feel any better. While that might be true because of Skye’s fierce determination to stick up for Jeffrey even if it killed her, it didn’t leave Skye much of a chance. 

“And he loves her,” said Alec. It startled Batty to hear him say it, especially to Jeffrey’s mother. “He has for a long time.” 

“He does?” 

At least, that’s what Batty thought she heard Mrs. Tifton say. Her response was so quiet and breathy it could have easily been something else entirely. 

“I had no idea,” said Mrs. Tifton. “What kind of parent does that make me?” 

“Normal,” Alec assured her, though Batty would call Mrs. Tifton a lot of things before she called her a normal parent. “He’s a teenager, you can’t expect him to tell you everything.” 

“And yet, you know.” Mrs. Tifton sounded bitter. 

“I know because I actually get along with the Penderwicks, and they’re a bunch of gossips. Particularly Jane,” said Alec, trying to assuage her. Then in a quick string of jumbled words, he went on to say, “And Jeffrey might have told me.” He laughed at the look on Mrs. Tifton’s face. “But in your defense, you’ve been his parent his entire life. I haven’t, so we have a different relationship.” 

“Alec McGrath, you cannot use my life’s worst decision to make me feel better.”

“It was the best I could come up with.” 

“It doesn’t work like that.” Her sharp tone didn’t quite deliver the way it usually did, but Batty knew she was trying. 

Alec looked away from Mrs. Tifton when, maybe a little smugly, he said, “Your life’s worst decision, huh?” 

Batty stared even more intensely at them through the door. Mrs. Tifton stared at Alec in precisely the same way. 

“Why aren’t you still angry with me?” She asked. “You should be.” 

Alec shrugged. “There’s no point, not now.” 

“Of course there is. After everything I didn’t tell you? _And_ I married a psychopath!” 

With a crooked smile that was identical to Jeffrey’s, Alec said, “So did I.” 

Not only was Alec no longer angry with Mrs. Tifton, it seemed to Batty like he was enjoying being around her. While “enjoyable” might not be the best word to describe how Mrs. Tifton felt about Alec’s company, she did appear to be completely at ease. Batty furrowed her eyebrows, her confusion deepening. 

“Tell you what,” said Alec. “When Jeffrey is back, I’ll go right back to hating you and we can yell at each other just like old times.” 

“When Jeffrey is back,” Mrs. Tifton repeated absentmindedly. It didn’t sound like she thought he ever would be. She fingered with a stray thread on the pillow beside her. She pulled the pillow into her lap and hugged it against her. “What if I missed my chance, Alec? To fix everything. To be a decent mother.” 

“You’ll get that chance,” Alec promised. “And you must have done something right. Jeffrey’s a great kid.” 

“Sometimes I think that’s all Churchie.” Mrs. Tifton set the pillow aside and picked up the photograph again. Her hands trembled. “A couple of years ago I went to Boston with a friend from college – Gillian, I don’t know if you remember her.”

“She’s the one I hated, right?” 

Mrs. Tifton almost laughed. “That was Jennifer. Gillian you liked. Anyway, we saw a movie with a character with a horrible relationship with her parents. Nonexistent, really. It prompted Gillian say that you know you have a shitty relationship with your kids if they only address you as “Mother.” It was supposed to be a joke, I think; she wasn’t aware.”

Alec wasn’t following, but Batty understood. 

“Did you know,” Mrs. Tifton paused to wipe at her eyes. “That Jeffrey has never in his life called me Mom?” 

"He almost always calls me Alec, so you're one step ahead of me." He put his arm around her and to Batty’s surprise, pressed a kiss against her cheek. Mrs. Tifton looked just as shocked by that as Batty. She put a hand to her cheek, but she didn’t brush it away. 

Batty returned to the music room, suddenly feeling like she was intruding on something private. It wasn’t logical; the whole conversation had been private, but still she felt the need to turn away. 

The piano was gorgeous and just what she needed. Her fingers danced across the keys before she had even sat down. She had “Delia’s Gone” stuck in her head, a song off the latest Johnny Cash album Jeffrey had bought for her. She’d only practiced it a couple of times. She had the first two verses perfected without sheet music, but the third one was just slightly different and she couldn’t remember how. She hummed the lyrics and tried her best to remember the arrangement of the notes in verse three. It cleared her mind of all thoughts relating to the abduction or the weird behavior of both her own parents and Jeffrey’s. 

Her eyes wandered to the sheet music sitting on the piano’s music stand. The notes were penciled in and a scribbled out song title was written in Jeffrey’s handwriting. Her fingers stumbled over the notes in the second verse of “Delia’s Gone,” then stopped altogether. She flipped through the pages. It was a complicated melody and it wasn’t finished, but she wanted to try it. 

It was beautiful. Of course it was. It started low and somber, then evolved into something more delicate and gentle. The rhythm shifted a second time, hauntingly beautiful. It made her feel alive again. She longed to hear Jeffrey play it. Her own playing was a tad bit choppy and uneven. It wasn’t her best, but the song was challenging. She was finding it difficult to get lost in because it reminded her that Jeffrey wasn’t there to demonstrate it for her. 

As she flipped the sheet music back to the beginning page, she caught sight of a figure darkening the doorway. Mrs. Tifton watched with her arms crossed tight over her chest. Batty dropped the lid over the keys a little harder than she’d meant to. She jumped up from the bench and bumped into the corner of the piano. Pain shot up her leg. She winced and struggled to stand straight to face Mrs. Tifton. She hadn’t thought about how her music would be heard down the hall and could draw an audience. Her face flooded with heat. 

“I’m sorry, I should have asked! It wasn’t my place, I’m sorry,” Batty stammered. “I’ll just go.”

“Don’t!” Mrs. Tifton took a couple of steps into the room. She collected herself and with less bite behind her words, she said, “Could you play it again?”

Batty dropped back onto the bench and lifted the lid. She stared at the sheet music, too nervous to start. 

“Jeffrey has been playing that all week,” Mrs. Tifton explained. “When I heard it I could almost pretend he was here.” 

Batty had guessed that. It was why she was so nervous. She wasn’t used to her music being the source of another person’s emotional support – her own, sure, but that was different. Mrs. Tifton looked at her with so much hope it was almost pleading. Batty couldn’t turn her down due to a few jitters. It would be a disgrace to music. She hardly made it through the first few bars before she was interrupted by Alec. 

“Jeffrey wrote that about you,” he told Mrs. Tifton. “He was going to tell you once he’d finished.”

Mrs. Tifton looked from Alec back to the piano, her eyes welling up. 

“It’s about the two of you starting over,” said Alec. “And how it’s been hard, but he knows your breakthrough is coming.” 

Batty started playing Jeffrey’s song softly in the background, like a soundtrack to their conversation. Listening to it from that standpoint, she could cry all over again. She could feel every emotion Jeffrey had experienced as he pieced together the correct notes: the hopeful apprehension, the explosive jubilance he knew would come when his relationship with his mother did finally take a leap forward. It was all there at the tips of her fingers. 

“He said he’d wait for it, however long it took,” Alec told Mrs. Tifton. She closed her eyes to block out everything that wasn’t the piano. When she opened them again, she looked disappointed that it was still Batty at the piano instead of Jeffrey. For once, Mrs. Tifton’s less than thrilled examination of her didn’t make Batty feel small and insignificant. It made her proud, like she was as least close to doing Jeffrey’s song justice. 

“I don’t need a breakthrough,” said Mrs. Tifton. “I just need him to be alright. If he lives, he can hate me forever if he wants.” 

“He will live. But Jeffrey has never hated you, and he won’t start then.” 

The conversation ended there, so Batty played a little bit louder to let the music fill the room. Jeffrey’s parents didn’t leave until she had finished. Once alone, she focused so deeply on her playing she could take a break from expending all her energy hoping Alec was right, and Jeffrey would live. Him and Skye both. 


	16. Chapter 16

Responding to her friends and toughing out each of their heartfelt but banal condolences turned out to be just as emotionally exhausting as Rosalind had feared. She had copied and pasted the same, simple message and sent it to all of them without putting any thought into it — not even for Anna, who usually got a detailed rundown of Rosalind's problems.

This was not a problem that Anna could fix. Rosalind didn't care to listen to her counseling. Sometimes Anna's unsolicited advice was unquestionably irksome. She didn't know how to handle everything, no matter how much she acted like she did.

That wasn't fair. Anna only wanted to support her. Rosalind should appreciate that, but all it was doing was wearing her down further. She didn't want support or condolences. Definitely not condolences. She just wanted to all to end. Maybe if Skye and Jeffrey lived, she would want Anna's support through her recovery. Until then, she wanted everyone to leave her alone.

Jane did not feel the same way. She was using every one of her social media accounts to spread awareness about the abduction. Currently, Rosalind was looking at Jane's Instagram story. She had posted a recent photo that Rosalind herself had taken. Skye had her arm thrown around Jeffrey's shoulder; he was leaning into her and they both had wide smiles plastered on their faces. It was from College Decision Day, so they were sporting apparel from their selected schools. They had been so proud and excited about having achieved what they both had worked towards for years. It had seemed like they'd had the world at their fingertips.

Rosalind clicked past the picture, not wanting to focus on what might be lost any longer. The second thing Jane had posted was a photo of Dexter. It was from his and Mrs. Tifton's wedding (likely found online), and she had considerately cropped Mrs. Tifton out of the photograph. Jane implored her many followers to be on the lookout for him and to call the provided number if they had any information. No less than eight people (different from those who had already texted her) DMed her Jane's story with even further condolences. Great.

Tommy knocked on her door, drawing her attention as he stepped into her room. "Nick told me you said you want to talk."

Of course he did. "I didn't say that."

Tommy looked embarrassed, if not a little crestfallen, though Rosalind might have been imagining that part. "'Kay. Sorry," he said. "Nick can't mind his own business." He turned to go.

"Tommy, wait," said Rosalind. As much as she hated it, Nick was right. She did need to explain some things to him. He deserved that much. "I do want to talk. I just didn't tell Nick that."

Tommy stopped. "Are you trying to mess with my head?" She thought he might be irritated with her, but he was smiling.

"No," she assured him. "I'm just a mess myself."

Tommy sat at the foot of her bed. Rosalind crawled over the mattress and sat cross-legged, facing him. She didn't know how to start. An apology was always a good option. So was honesty. Honesty and complete transparency.

"You're blushing," Tommy observed. "Do I make you that uncomfortable?" She could tell the idea insulted him.

"It's not that," she said quickly. Her face got even hotter. "I have to tell you something."

Now he just looked concerned. "You okay?"

"Mortified beyond belief, but medically speaking, I'm completely fine." Rosalind rolled over and hid her face in her comforter. She wanted to wait until her blush had subsided, but it didn't appear to be going anywhere. She groaned loudly until her breath ran out. She could not believe she was going to tell him. She hoisted herself onto her elbows and continued to face the wall opposite Tommy. "I might have gotten in the shower with Nick."

"You what?" Tommy fell back on the mattress so he could look her in the face. His mouth was gaping open, and he was trying not to laugh at her. Rosalind couldn't decide if she was relieved by that or angry. At least he trusted both of them.

"Explain please."

He really was making her spell it out for him. "I…um, thought he was you."

The laugh fell right off his face. "Oh." Sometimes he could be a touch on the slow side. He sat up again.

Rosalind winced and dragged herself into a sitting position as well. She fidgeted with her hands and looked over to find Tommy doing the same. She nudged him. "Say something other than 'oh.' Please?"

"I didn't know you thought so little of me." His face was hard.

 _Nice, Rosy,_ she scolded herself. She'd offended him twice in under five minutes. Not understanding, she asked what he meant. After some internal debating, she slid her hand over his arm and let it rest in the crook of his elbow. Tommy stared down at her hand for what felt like an hour before he answered her. When he caught her eye, Rosalind looked away, feeling ashamed without knowing why. He reached out and gently tilted her face back toward him.

"Rosalind, you're hurting. That makes people do things they regret." He covered her hand with his. "I would never take advantage of you like that."

Rosalind's heart leaped into her throat. She hugged him so he wouldn't see her crying. "You're a great guy, Tommy Geiger."

Tommy wrapped his arms around her tighter. "Not that I don't want to sleep with you, Rosy, because I do."

Rosalind laughed through her nose. "I know. That's what makes you so great." She leaned back, just enough so her face was inches from his. She was close enough to kiss him. Likely, Tommy was having the same thought. He pulled his bottom lip between his teeth and turned his face away, his cheeks tinged with color. Rosalind tried to fight her disappointment. She grabbed his hand.

"You've been so good to me," said Rosalind. She traced her thumb over the back of his hand. She delighted in the familiarity of it. "I'm sorry I've been so horrible."

"You haven't."

Rosalind gave him a look that clearly said cut the bullshit.

Tommy grinned at her and gave her a playful shove. "I guess you could have been a little nicer."

"Admit it. Say I was awful."

"Okay, yeah. You were awful. A complete bitch."

Rosalind had never been so happy to be called a bitch, and she never would again. Something about joking with him like that made her feel like everything would work out. Maybe their relationship wasn't over permanently after all.

Her phone buzzed again. It was an old classmate she had done a group project with first semester, one she had forgotten existed. The message read, in all caps: _I JUST HEARD ABOUT YOUR SISTER. I AM SO SO SORRY. I'M HERE IF YOU NEED ANYTHING BABE. STAY STRONG GIRL! I'M THINKING OF YOU._

Rosalind threw her phone against the pillow so hard her shoulder popped. "Here for me, my ass. I haven't seen you in six months bitch, I don't care if you're fucking thinking of me."

"Whoa," said Tommy with a scared laugh.

Rosalind fell into his lap with an angry moan. "If one more person tells me how fucking sorry they are for me, I'm taking a toaster into the bathtub."

Tommy lay down and pulled her up next to him. She snuggled into his chest and he lightly scratched her upper arm, sending chills all the way down to her toes.

"Why does everyone find other people's suffering _so_ entertaining?" said Rosalind, feeling whiny.

"They're all a bunch of sadists," said Tommy. It wasn't really an answer for her, but at least he agreed. "You should turn your phone off. At least for today."

"I think I might flush it down the toilet."

Tommy gave her a tight squeeze. "That's probably a little too permanent. So is a toaster in the bath. We need temporary solutions here."

Rosalind reached across the bed and shut off her phone. She tucked it into a drawer in her bedside table. Though she knew she shouldn't, she lay against Tommy again; there was a chance she could actually fall asleep with him there. He calmed her. She might not like it, but it was time she admitted that Tommy was engraved on her heart. There wasn't a damn thing she could do about it.

* * *

Five of Jeffrey’s fingernails littered the carpet in front of Skye’s face, black and full of blood. Bile rose up in Skye’s throat. She had to swallow it back in no more than ten second intervals. She had cried through the extraction of the first two, but by the third one, she had to consciously try so hard not to vomit that she hadn’t had any crying left. 

Jeffrey’s hand lay limp against the armrest. His nail beds were torn and blackened. Blood dripped from each finger in a steady stream. It ran down the side of his leg and pooled against his foot. He’d stayed remarkably quiet the entire time, not silent, but Skye couldn’t fathom how he’d even kept himself from screaming. 

He was deathly white and drenched in sweat. Skye wanted to say something to him, anything that would serve as some level of distraction, no matter how small, but she was at a complete loss for words. In order to look past his bloody hand and see his face, Skye had to crane her neck and put enormous strain on her already exhausted spine. Her bindings had ripped into her skin and she had lost feeling in her hands and feet. Any effort she made to bring sensation back to her extremities only tightened the ropes. Her shoulders were pulled so far back she could probably touch her elbows together if she put her mind to it. 

Dexter crudely wrapped each of Jeffrey’s fingertips in a thin gauze that his blood soaked through quickly. His hand remained limp and still, like he no longer had the power to move it. He didn’t so much as flinch when Dexter started pawing through his toolboxes again. He put his pliers back, but continued to search for something else. He picked up a large knife and turned it around in his hand a few times, then set it down. Skye’s stomach clenched. It felt like there was a large snake coiled around her chest, squeezing until it felt like the pressure could crack her ribs. 

Gardening shears were apparently what Dexter was looking for – the large ones, meant for trimming hedges. Jeffrey hadn’t been paying Dexter any mind, but when he saw the shears, he tensed and jerked against his restraints. It was more instinctual and less of an actual escape attempt. 

“Tell me, Jeffrey,” said Dexter. “Fingers have three joints. Should I remove each one or cut your fingers clean off at the bottom?” 

Jeffrey blanched. He was already so pale Skye hadn’t thought that was possible Jeffrey balled his right hand into a tight fist, but his left hand wouldn’t cooperate. He curled his fingers just a little bit before his strength ran out and his hand flattened again. 

Skye’s mind flooded with images of Jeffrey at the piano with that gratified, untroubled expression he wore only when he was playing an instrument. He absentmindedly mimed playing the piano against a table or his leg whenever his thoughts were wandering. He brought his clarinet with him anywhere he didn’t think he would have emergency access to a piano if he ever needed to clear his mind. 

Jeffrey was thinking the same things. Skye could see it on his face. His eyes were wide and brimming; his bottom lip trembled.

“No, please. _Please!”_ Skye begged. She screamed it. She thrashed against her bindings. She kicked and fought, but with her four limbs tied together behind her back, her body only rocked like water sloshing in a cup. 

Dexter snapped the shears open and shut twice to test them out. Jeffrey squirmed in his chair and muttered curse words under his breath. Dexter hit the back of Jeffrey’s fist with the butt of the tool until he was forced to unfurl his fingers. 

Skye writhed, twisting and battling her ropes. She tipped onto her side, still pleading with Dexter the best she knew how. Tears blinded her. She was a perfect prisoner. She could do nothing. She kicked again, ignoring how it yanked her shoulders back with her feet. Her body arched in such a taut bow her toes skimmed the back of her head. She jerked her hands, but her wrists could not slide free. “Why are you doing this?” She wept. She wasn’t really asking him. She was more asking the universe – God even – how this could be allowed to happen. 

“I know what’s most important to him.” Dexter seized Jeffrey’s index finger. “I’m taking it. That’s what he did to me.” 

She was pathetically slow-witted, a complete ignoramus. She felt suddenly rehabilitated. Her blood was pumping through her veins with so much adrenaline she was shaking. 

Skye stilled. “Do you mean music?”

Dexter rolled his eyes at her. “Yes,” he said impatiently. He started to fit the shears over the top knuckle of Jeffrey’s finger. 

“You’re wrong.” The tremor in her voice kept her from sounding as nonchalant as she had hoped, but she still got Dexter’s attention. He pulled the shears back from Jeffrey’s hand just a fraction of an inch. 

_“Wrong?”_ He repeated. “How?”

She was invigorated, but be that as it may, she was petrified. Every nerve in her body was screaming at her to shut up and stay quiet. “About what Jeffrey loves most.” 

Realization dawned on Jeffrey’s face. “Skye, no!” 

Skye ignored him. Each beat of her heart hurt. It thumped “Danger!” and “Stop!” against her ribcage. She wondered if it could bruise it from the inside. She ignored that too. It was time to show her hand. She’d been expecting this, waiting for it. 

“It isn’t music,” said Skye. Her bravado failed her as in a terrified whisper she told him, “It’s me.” 

Alright, that was a bit of an exaggeration, but it worked. A wide grin spread across Dexter’s face. He slid the shears into the back pocket of his jeans. 

“Is that so?” He looked to Jeffrey with his face aglow. “You’re in love with her?” 

“She’s bluffing.” 

Dexter watched him intently, sizing up his panic and desperation. “I don’t think she is.” He looked back down at Skye. “Are you dating?” 

“NO!” said Jeffrey, so resolutely he almost shouted it. Dexter acted like he didn’t hear him. 

“No,” Skye confirmed. “I won’t go out with him because…” She swallowed. “I don’t love him back.” It was hard to say. Despite being entirely truthful, it felt a lot like she was lying. 

“She’s trying to protect me. She’s making it up, I’ve never asked her out. Music is my life, you know that. Take it.” Jeffrey relaxed his hands, openly displaying all of his fingers.

Skye's determination fortified her. His fingers would stay right where they were. “No. You want to take something from him? Take me.” 

Dexter grinned again. “You are one stupid bitch.” He fished a key out of his pocket and unclasped the dog collar from around Jeffrey’s neck. There was a ring of bright red marking where it had been. Dexter fastened it around Skye’s throat instead. She could feel her pulse pounding against the leather. He cut almost every rope binding Skye, leaving only her feet still bound. She rubbed at her wrists and tried to coax her hands back to life. She curtailed the urge to fight and forced herself to lie still. 

Dexter let Jeffrey out of the chair. “You can keep your fingers, kid. You’re going to need them.” Skye tried not to focus on what in the hell that could mean. Dexter pulled Jeffrey to the floor so that he was directly in front of Skye. She could hardly look at him. His face was painted with what could only be described as betrayal. 

Dexter held Jeffrey’s shackled hands behind his back. He yanked on the leash around Skye’s throat and dragged her within inches of Jeffrey. She thought she could feel his breath lightly graze across her face. So when Dexter told Jeffrey to kiss her, Skye wasn’t all that surprised. 

But Jeffrey didn’t. He laughed and turned his head to the side. “You’re out of your mind.”

Dexter pulled off his belt, but Jeffrey watched him unphased. 

“Well?” Dexter said, giving him another chance. 

“No.” 

The belt cracked across his back and his upper arms. He flinched, but held his ground. This was worse for Skye. It was right in front of her face. She could feel the wind the belt generated as it swung through the air. 

“Just kiss me, you idiot,” said Skye softly. “It’s okay.” 

Jeffrey shook his head. Dexter brought the belt down a second time. Skye wouldn’t watch this, not again. She grabbed Jeffrey’s face and kissed him herself. He went rigid and tried to pull back, but she kept her hand pressed firmly against the back of his neck and refused to let him break away. His mouth didn’t move against hers.

“Jeffrey, please,” she whispered against his lips. Dexter wouldn’t be satisfied unless he kissed her back. That was the whole point: he wanted him to break. Skye tried again, but he remained still. “It’s just a kiss.” Nothing. Skye was determined. She pulled him closer, kissed him harder. She felt him bite down on his tongue. 

She broke away with a gasp when something cold and metal brushed against the side of her neck. Dexter twirled her hair around the barrel of his gun. 

“You’re right,” he whispered in her ear. “It is just a kiss. Where’s the fun in that?” 

Skye’s breath hitched. 

Louder, so that Jeffrey was guaranteed to hear him, Dexter said, “Suck him off.” 

Jeffrey lunged back and Skye’s hands fell from his neck. Her nausea had returned. Jeffrey scrambled away until he reached the end of his chains. He curled in on himself, and Skye drew back as well. 

Dexter’s frustration with their lack of cooperation was apparent. “Fine,” he snarled at Jeffrey. “Have it your way.” 

He dragged Jeffrey away by his wrists. Dexter pinched Jeffrey’s nose shut until he was forced to open his mouth to breathe. Too quickly for Skye to understand what was happening, Dexter wedged the muzzle of his gun between Jeffrey’s teeth. 

“STOP!” Skye tried to jump to her feet, but they were still bound and she tripped. “I’ll do it. Please, I’LL DO IT!” 

Jeffrey fought violently against him, but Dexter was straddling him and his hand was closed around his throat. Jeffrey had nowhere to go. Dexter shoved the gun deeper into his mouth. Skye could barely see she was crying so hard, but she knew when Dexter pulled the trigger. 

She heard a click and the gun didn’t fire. The chamber was empty. 

Dexter pulled it from Jeffrey’s mouth and stared at it in his hand. “Aren’t you lucky?” he said. “I forgot to load it.” He hit it across Jeffrey’s face before he tucked it away.

Skye was so relieved she could kiss Jeffrey – for real. The only thing holding her back was Dexter there watching. She sobbed uncontrollably as something inside of her broke. Her self-deception and her pride, she would later identify it as. If what she then felt for Jeffrey didn’t constitute love, she truly didn’t know what the fuck being in love with someone could possibly mean. 


	17. Chapter 17

_Tangled_ was one of Lydia's favorite movies. Skye had watched it with her half a dozen times in the past month alone. It was a ridiculous comparison to be sure, but Skye felt exactly like Rapunzel realizing she was the kingdom's lost princess.

A montage of memories hit her like a tidal wave. It would have knocked her off balance if she wasn't already on the floor. She thought about how not talking to Jeffrey had made her feel like she was missing a limb, how he intrusively occupied her thoughts. She thought about hating his ex-girlfriend for absolutely no reason from the moment she had met her, and how she herself hadn't developed a crush of any kind since she'd met him. She realized that there was hardly a thing in the world that didn't remind her of Jeffrey in some stupid, insignificant way – right down to someone at Starbucks ordering the same drink he always did. She hated gifts, and she was awful at giving them, but she regularly walked through stores noticing things she knew he would like. She thought about how she would sacrifice everything she could for him with zero uncertainty. If Dexter killed him, her whole world would stop with his heart. And what then would her uncompromising persistence about soaking up the universe have amounted to? Jack shit, that's what. Because any universe without Jeffrey in it was beneath her appreciation.

In hindsight, it was ludicrous that she'd ever claimed to be anything less than reciprocal of his feelings. She was immobilized by the shock of such a revelation. All she could do was stare at Jeffrey, who lay in a similar state of stupefaction as he processed his own relief about not getting shot in the mouth.

Dexter fixed Skye's hands to a hook in the floor. They were tied over her head so she was forced to lay flat on her back. She let it all happen without looking away from Jeffrey. She was still crying, and she didn't foresee that stopping anytime soon. Dexter cut the ropes around her ankles, and Jeffrey scrambled to his feet with surprising agility. He staggered for only a moment.

"Touch her and you're dead," said Jeffrey. His words were so frighteningly coolheaded he sounded like he owned the room.

Dexter chuckled and lifted his hands in mock surrender. _"I'm_ not going to." He reached for his handgun and fed another clip into it. He cocked the gun and aimed it at Jeffrey again, this time fully loaded. "But you are. And I've told you not to threaten me."

A gun pointed at Jeffrey's face wasn't a sight Skye could ever become desensitized to. Jeffrey glanced down at Skye, looking frightened and confused.

"So we're clear, you're going to strip her naked," Dexter clarified. "Because like I said, there is a reason you still have you fingers."

He reveled in Jeffrey's shell shocked expression. Skye tried not to flinch, but her body twitched involuntarily as each of her muscles tightened up defensively. Jeffrey flit his gaze back and forth between Skye and Dexter, looking like he might lose consciousness altogether.

Jeffrey crossed his arms mulishly. "Shoot me."

"What? No!" said Skye. Her alarm spiked. She hadn't recovered from Dexter trying to shoot Jeffrey not five minutes ago. She couldn't go through that again.

"Or," said Jeffrey, pondering an alternative idea. "Leave me your gun. I'll shoot myself."

"JEFFREY!" Skye fought to sit up, but of course, that was impossible. She only flailed on the ground and hoped to catch Jeffrey's attention and get him to shut up.

Dexter laughed and wagged a finger between Skye and Jeffrey, shaking his head in wonder. "I cannot believe I didn't see it. It's obvious now."

Jeffrey stepped forward so that Dexter's gun was pressed against his chest. "Come on, Dexter," he urged. "I know you want to."

Dexter smiled broader. The whole thing was the height of amusement for him. "I can kill you if you want. But after you're dead, I'll take your pretty little girlfriend and…" He walked behind Jeffrey and whispered the end of that sentence in his ear. Skye was a little grateful she didn't have to hear it. Jeffrey's eyes lit with a fiery fury and before Dexter had finished talking, Jeffrey slammed his elbow into his teeth. Dexter stumbled back, his hand over his mouth. He was still laughing like a complete madman. He wiped his hand across his face and then lunged at Jeffrey. He caught him in a chokehold and pressed his gun into his ear.

"Last chance, kid," Dexter spat.

"I already said shoot me," said Jeffrey.

"Stop!" She was talking to Jeffrey, but it was Dexter who was hesitating. He didn't want to shoot Jeffrey just yet. Skye's throat felt thick from crying. "The only reason I am still here is for you, Jeffrey," she reminded him. The gun slipped an inch or so from Jeffrey's face as Dexter gave him the chance to listen to her. Skye could sense Jeffrey faltering, like she'd split a crack in his will. "Don't make it be for nothing. You'll make me go through this for nothing." That tasted bad coming off her tongue, a little too aggressive, like she was blaming him.

But it worked. Jeffrey lost his resolve. Dexter felt it just as surely as Skye did. He dropped his grip on Jeffrey and gave him a heavy push in Skye's direction. He tripped, but didn't fall. He hung back from her a foot or so, stalling.

"Jeffrey," Skye said, as tenderly as she knew how to. "It's okay. Please." No matter the situation, begging anyone to strip her clothes off tasted bad too, but she didn't let it show. "Please," she repeated when Jeffrey made no move to acknowledge her.

If she'd cracked his will before, it was now broken entirely. He caved and knelt in front of her, trembling and white. He started to pull up her shirt, but stopped before it was even over her chest. Dexter was chastising him.

"Oh come now," he said scornfully. "That's not how you undress a woman."

Jeffrey balled the edge of Skye's shirt in his hand. "What do you want from me?"

"I want you to do what you would have if, you know, Skye actually wanted you back," said Dexter. Skye could kill him for that line alone. "I'm giving you a gift here. Appreciate it."

Skye swallowed the lump in her throat and attempted not to look as scared as she felt. She'd be fine – humiliated (especially with Dexter right there), but ultimately fine. She repeated that over and over, hoping that the same could be said for Jeffrey. She would try to use it as a reminder that Jeffrey _did_ still have all of his fingers.

"Do what you've already thought about doing if she would ever let you," Dexter rephrased for absolutely no reason. "I'm letting you for her."

The look on Jeffrey's face tempted Skye to just blurt out that she did love him back after all. But she held her tongue. It wouldn't make anything better. Dexter had to believe that she didn't.

Reluctantly, Jeffrey bent over her and tried to prop himself up with his left hand. This was the hand that Dexter had torn the nails from, and it was sensitive to pressure. He collapsed onto his elbow and just barely managed to keep himself from landing on Skye.

He leaned down so close to her he tickled her ear lobe as he whispered, "No part of me wants this. I'm sorry."

Guilt was pouring off of him and he had yet to even do anything. It broke Skye's heart. "Don't be," she whispered back.

She heard him sniffle once, then his lips were on her neck. They just grazed it, and she could read how much he hated himself for that small act alone. He didn't do it again. Skye gasped as his hand slid under the hem on her shirt. The chain around his wrist skimmed over her abdomen as he dragged up her shirt. He kept his hand clear of her chest has he tugged it over her head. It hung around her bound wrists. Skye arched her back so Jeffrey could unhook her bra. Skye felt him shudder against her. He was crying.

"Look at me," she said as he fumbled with the clasp. He did, but Skye could tell he didn't want to. His eyes were wet and bloodshot and entirely fully of self-loathing. Skye's own eyes filled with tears. How many times could her heart break in a single moment? "You're incredible. You're my best friend," she told him. "This doesn't change that."

Dexter scoffed. Jeffrey flinched. He didn't believe her. His hand tucked under the waistband of her jeans.

"Dexter can't change that," Skye added. Her breathing was shallow and her speech was breathy. Jeffrey trailed his thumb around the line of her underwear. He closed his eyes and turned his face away from her, red with shame. Tears leaked down the side of his face as he pulled both her pants and her underwear down past her hips, then discarded them altogether so she was fully exposed. Heat flooded to her face and neck. She felt Dexter's eyes on her. She wanted to cross her legs and cover herself so badly that it hurt, but she forced herself to leave them lying open. She wouldn't fight Jeffrey.

"I'm sorry," Jeffrey said again. He eased his hand between her legs. They tensed reflexively before Skye consciously commanded her limbs to relax again. Jeffrey swallowed a sob, looking like he was going to be sick.

"Tell me if it hurts," he said hoarsely. Skye nodded once and tried not to react as he slipped his finger inside of her.

Dexter evidently needed to provide commentary to remind them of his presence. "Think you can get your whole hand in?"

Jeffrey gagged and Skye thought him throwing up was becoming a genuine concern.

"I am _not_ doing that."

"Pity." Dexter did seem disappointed, but he didn't force it. "Then no less than three fingers."

Skye just barely heard his sharp, pained intake of breath as he poked his second finger in with his first. She shrunk back from the discomfort. It was hardly noticeable, but Jeffrey did notice. He opened his mouth to apologize but Skye cut him off before he could. His tears dripped from the tip of his nose and fell onto her stomach. Each time she felt one splash against her skin, Skye's heart wrenched and she realized all the more how much she truly did love him.

The third and final finger did hurt a little bit, but she didn't tell him. Jeffrey carefully thrust those three fingers inside her only twice, then he threw himself away from her with so much force he lost his balance and fell on his back. He slung an arm over his face to hide it in his elbow. Skye closed her legs and pulled them into her body to cover what part of herself she could. She quivered like she was cold, but it had nothing to do with the temperature.

Dexter pulled Jeffrey up from the ground. This was the part of her plan that concerned Skye the most. Now that Dexter had gotten what he wanted from Jeffrey, he could easily decide to pull his garden shears out again. Then, Skye would have failed.

Luckily, he didn't, and Skye let herself breathe. He only bound Jeffrey's hands behind him again. Jeffrey looked defeated, like he didn't have any fight left in him at all. This pleased Dexter greatly.

"Admit it," he jeered as he locked a padlock through the chains. "You enjoyed that a little."

Jeffrey stayed silent, his eyes glazed over as he fixated them on his feet.

"Of course he didn't!" Skye wished she could suppress her deep flush as Dexter raked his eyes over her. "He's not a rapist."

Dexter's mouth pulled up on one side in a gross smile. "Oh I don't know," he said, gesturing at her pointedly. "I'd say he's halfway there."

From the way Jeffrey's stiffened at Dexter's comment, Skye knew that he saw it precisely the same way. When he finished restraining him, Dexter kicked at the back of Jeffrey's knee so it buckled, and when he pushed him, Jeffrey toppled over easily. He landed right at Skye's feet and didn't bother moving.

Skye waited until Dexter was gone to try to comfort him, but when they were alone, she couldn't come up with the right words. Irritatingly, her brain was stuck on _I'm in love with you_ , and she couldn't tell him that. It felt wrong to, in that moment. She couldn't identify why that was except that she was sure he wouldn't believe her. Maybe that was the only reason. If he thought she was only saying to make him feel better, it was bound to make things worse. She didn't want to risk it, so she kept quiet.

In the end, it was Jeffrey who spoke first. "You said you wouldn't tell him. You promised me." He wasn't accusatory, just heavy hearted. He sat up and turned away from her to give her privacy. She didn't want it; she needed to see his face.

"I'm not sorry." Tears spilled over Skye's eyelids again. She was growing used to them, so she hardly cared anymore.

"You said Penderwick Family Honor," Jeffrey pressed.

"I lied. It's never meant less to me."

Jeffrey sniffed and wiped his face on his shoulder. "This is why you stayed, isn't it? You've been waiting for the right time to tell him."

"It's not the only reason, but yes."

"You shouldn't have," said Jeffrey. "I'm not worth it."

Since he wouldn't let her see his face, Skye studied his hands. Even wrapped in chains they were beautiful and every bit worth it alone.

"You are to me," said Skye. "I had to. You said it. Music is your life. I wasn't going to watch him take it."

Jeffrey shook his head like there was a basic concept she wasn't understanding. "He already has. My life is over. He can cut off my entire hand and he won't take anything from me I haven't already lost."

"You don't know that." He really had lost the will to fight. Skye's own optimism was waning with each passing hour, and she didn't know how to get it back. Despite that, she wouldn't stop trying to revive his hope, even if she hardly had any left herself.

"I'm not making it out of here, Skye." Jeffrey's shoulders slumped as he said it. "So it doesn't matter what he does to me. But what he'll do to you now? I would rather die than have to…" He stopped. He was crying again. He didn't need to finish the thought; Skye knew. He would rather die than have to do anything like that to her again.

After blinking rapidly to clear her own blurry vision, Skye almost meekly asked him, "Will you lay here with me?"

Jeffrey glanced back at her, but looked away just as fast. It gutted her to see him torturing himself like that. Her hatred for Dexter only grew. She might have protected Jeffrey from more physical injuries, but Dexter wasn't hurting him any less.

"Please," she said in a whisper. "You're so far away."

He shifted uncomfortably, then spun toward her. His eyes were so red Skye almost averted her own gaze. "I didn't think you'd want me any closer."

That made her heart ache so bad she thought it might kill her. "Come here."

She watched his shoulders rise and fall heavily. She thought he might refuse, but he lay down beside her, still a couple of inches away. She stretched out one of her legs and wrapped it over his. She pulled him closer to her. Since she couldn't hug him, it was the best she could do to prove that it wasn't him she had been violated by. It didn't matter that it had been Jeffrey's fingers inside of her; he hadn't done anything. It was all Dexter. She shifted as much of her body over to him as her tied hands would allow, which was probably no more than an inch.

With a dejected sigh, Jeffrey repositioned himself so that his head rested under her arm.

"I'm sorry," he murmured once he had settled himself against her.

"Jeffrey…" Skye protested.

"Let me say it. I am. It's not enough, but I'm so, so sorry."

Skye felt even more hot tears sliding from his face onto her bare skin. She poked at him with her foot. "I want you to know that I've never felt so respected by anyone that I just did by you."

Jeffrey hmphed disbelievingly.

"I'm serious. Jeffrey, you wanted to kill yourself first," said Skye. "I meant what I said. I don't care what Dexter makes you do. It doesn't change anything."

Silence.

"Dexter can't make you a rapist."

Jeffrey didn't disagree, but he didn't concur with her statement either. "I shouldn't have done it. I should have let him kill me."

Skye shook her head. "But I asked you not to. I don't know how to tell you how happy I am that you didn't."

Again, silence. Skye tried a different tactical approach. "Would it help if I expressly give you permission to do anything Dexter might want you to in the future?"

"No," he said, full of resentment that was not directed towards her. Skye was worried that he held more resentment for himself than he did for Dexter. "That's the problem. It's what Dexter wants. It's not what _you_ want."

"I want it if it means saving your life," Skye vowed.

"That doesn't make a difference."

How foolish she'd been to ever have turned down someone who valued her as much as Jeffrey did. What more could she possibly have wanted? He truly saw her, he saw her worth. She wished he could still see his own.

"Don't hate yourself for this," she pleaded. "I can't stand it." She twisted her neck around and kissed his cheek. The _I love you_ was at the tip of her tongue again, but she swallowed it back.

Jeffrey told her that he'd try, but it didn't look promising. That worried her. She had to admit, she hadn't expected Dexter to use Jeffrey as his tool for abusing her. She had considered a number of things: torture, rape, maybe even death, but every scenario she'd dreamed up had Jeffrey watching from the sidelines. If Dexter made him do much else to her, it just might break Jeffrey entirely, and he was fragile enough without that.

As it turned out, those particular worries were ultimately needless. Jeffrey would never have to touch Skye again.


	18. Chapter 18

Rosalind couldn't remember why she had ventured into the formal dining room, but there she was, lying on the table. She had been drawn to an elaborate wine rack in the corner of the room. She probably should have felt guiltier about it than she did, but she had found a corkscrew almost no effort and had taken down one of the bottles. Before long, half the bottle was gone. Wine was one Tommy-free way she could make herself feel better, right? Besides, the label was pretty.

What a good choice it had been. Rosalind felt _great_. She was more comfortable on the dining room table than she had been in her own bed for the past week. She stared up at the intricate ceiling above her. The painted figures must have been of the Greek gods. The togas they were wearing and the grapes they were eating suggested that. As did their laziness. Rosalind certainly hoped they were the Greek gods. She loved mythology. She couldn't think of any reason to have such an expensive ceiling if it wasn't depicting something as fascinating as Greek mythology.

She wanted more wine, but she would have to sit up to drink it. She hadn't yet decided if it was worth that effort. She concentrated back on the painted ceiling. It made her want to watch the Percy Jackson movie. Skye thought that it was horrible, and she thought Rosalind was horrible for liking it, but that didn't make her want to watch it any less. Or she could watch _Hercules_. That might be even better – always a classic. She started humming "I Won't Say I'm in Love." She heard footsteps approaching, but she didn't look to see who they belonged to.

"Rosalind!" Mrs. Tifton snapped, shocked to see her. "Is that my $900 bottle of Mouton Rothschild?"

Rosalind swiveled the bottle around to examine the label. Sure enough, the elegant golden script read _Château Mouton-Rothschild_. "Appears to be." She lay back down, bottle still in hand.

"What gave you the right?"

"Um…me." That didn't make sense. Oh, Mrs. Tifton was really going to hate her now. Rosalind found that she didn't care. She raised the bottle high over her head like she was toasting to something. "Nick said I can't fuck away the pain soooo I'm drinking it away instead."

"Not with that you're not." Mrs. Tifton pried the bottle from Rosalind's fingers. She wanted to protest, but since technically, she'd stolen it, she didn't have much to work with. She sat up, pitifully reached after it once, then gave up.

Mrs. Tifton threw it against the wall. It broke into three clean pieces and stained the paint red. Rosalind jumped so hard she rattled the flower vase sitting at the table's center. Mrs. Tifton went to the wine rack and ran a finger over the many bottles, then selected two from the bottom.

"Dexter bought me that one for our anniversary," she explained as she gestured at the broken bottle on the floor. "And no one in this house will be touching anything that is remotely connected to him."

Rosalind looked at her quizzically. "This whole house is kind of… I mean, he lived here. A while."

"If I think like that I will come undone completely," said Mrs. Tifton. "I assume you have my corkscrew?"

Rosalind pointed at it. It had rolled off the table and fallen onto the floor. Mrs. Tifton pulled the corks out of both bottles of wine. She handed one to Rosalind and kept the second for herself. Rosalind accepted it with much hesitation.

Mrs. Tifton gulped down wine directly from the bottle and took a seat in front of Rosalind (in a chair, because she still had _some_ class). "You don't drink much for a college student, do you?" It was more of an observation than a question.

Rosalind swallowed some of her own wine and shook her head. Though, if things didn't work out alright in the end, she had a feeling she might start. "How'd you know?"

Mrs. Tifton looked at her with a sort of pitying incredulity. "If you're going to throw up, just try to miss the table. The floor would be much easier to clean."

"Wouldn't Churchie clean it?"

Mrs. Tifton huffed indignantly. "I'm not a slave driver, Rosalind. I'm here, of course I would clean it."

Rosalind was amazed. "You could – you could buy another one," she ventured, trying to be helpful. She'd already drank at least a quarter of this second bottle. Her words were beginning to slur. "Don't you have like…like all of the millions of dollars?"

"Something like that."

Maybe Rosalind was too drunk herself to tell, but she thought she could sense Mrs. Tifton loosening up. She was drinking even faster than Rosalind. "The town is Framley," she observed. She'd had this question for a while. "You are Framley. Do you own the town?"

"Yes. My grandfather founded it," said Mrs. Tifton. "All of the millions of dollars must come from somewhere, you know."

Rosalind chugged down another glass' worth to give herself the courage to ask something else. This one was a little more risky. "Is there any other wine Dexter bought?"

"He bought most of it."

A smile spread across Rosalind's face. She felt so mischievous. "Can we purge your stock?"

Mrs. Tifton gave a start. "As in…?" She pointed at the glassy mess of Rosalind's first wine selection. Rosalind nodded. Mrs. Tifton held out a finger to tell Rosalind to wait, the downed every remaining drop in her bottle. Rosalind hadn't realized it until now, but Mrs. Tifton had already opened her second. Once it was empty, she set it down with a bang next to her first. "Why not?"

Rosalind squealed gleefully and jumped down from the table. She swayed on the spot for only a moment before she regained her balance. She finished the last of her wine and moved to throw the bottle into the floor, filled with wild exhilaration. Breaking shit was precisely the sort of outlet she'd been searching for.

Mrs. Tifton grabbed her arm. "No, absolutely not. If you must break things, there will be a purpose behind it." She took another bottle from her wine rack. She had to stretch up on her toes to reach it. She wobbled as she pulled it down, but she managed not to fall. Rosalind took it from her with delight.

Again, Mrs. Tifton stopped her before she smashed it. Would she ever let her vent her many, many dark emotions?

"What do you want to break?"

"The bottle," said Rosalind. Obviously.

"No, no. It must symbolize something."

"Like what?"

"Like Dexter's neck."

Utter brilliance. "Ooh. Yes, that's a good one," said Rosalind, angry that she hadn't thought of this herself first. She held up the bottle and christened it Dexter's neck, then she hurled it into the floor.

It disappointingly bounced. Rosalind deflated. She certainly hoped that Dexter's real neck could be broken much more easily. Mrs. Tifton was undeterred.

"Wait here," she told Rosalind before she hurried out of the room.

Rosalind was tempted to open another bottle, but the threat of ingesting another Dexter-bought wine held her back. It was probably just as well, her vision was so blurry the chance she would have been able to open one was slim, at best.

Mrs. Tifton returned with a hammer. She smashed the neck of the bottle to let out the pressure, then gave it back to Rosalind.

"Now try."

This time it broke. Rosalind jumped and clapped like a happy toddler. Mrs. Tifton went next. Her bottle she dubbed Dexter's right knee cap. On and on they went, metaphorically smashing every bone in Dexter's body that they could think of. The wine rack was depleted by at least three-fourths when they were finished.

Rosalind sat right where she stood. Wine was everywhere, both red and white. The dining hall looked like a crime scene. As far as she could tell, all of the glass was far enough away from them it didn't serve as much of a threat. Hopefully she wouldn't discover any stray pieces embedded in her palms. Perhaps it hadn't been the safest activity to partake in, but she felt vindicated. It was easy to pretend that they really had debilitated Dexter and she had gotten the revenge she wanted. She had never been the vengeful Penderwick sister. Usually, she aired on the side of forgiveness. It was as if she had unleashed 19 years' worth of vengeance on Dexter and she'd loved every second of it.

Mrs. Tifton sat with her, though unlike Rosalind, she was careful not to sit in a puddle of wine. She had a new bottle in her hand.

"You are a brand new woman," said Rosalind. She meant it as a compliment.

"I am today," Mrs. Tifton agreed.

Rosalind drew patterns in the wine she was sitting in. It was satisfying to watch the liquid slowly run back together and erase her drawings. "How come…" She started with a hiccup. "How come you don't like me?"

"Excuse me?"

"Skye can be rude, Jane is a weirdo, and Batty is too quite sometimes. But I am delightful, and parents looove me," said Rosalind. "Always. It's a rule. You're the only one who ever hasn't and I want to know why." Alcohol wasn't called liquid courage for nothing. They were either going to clear the air between them, or Rosalind was going to bury herself in Arundel's massive lawn. Rosalind kept talking without giving Mrs. Tifton a chance to answer. "I don't get it. What is not to like? I'm very polite and respectful."

Mrs. Tifton looked around at her trashed formal dining room.

"This is the first time this has happened, I promise," said Rosalind. "I don't usually steal wine and throw things and make messes. I'm a well behaved person, this is very unusual." Rosalind slurred the "unusual" incomprehensibly.

"Unusual circumstances call for unusual behavior," said Mrs. Tifton. "You get a pass."

"Really?" Rosalind was relieved. "That makes me so happy."

A laugh-like cough came from the doorway. Rosalind whipped around and found both the Geiger boys watching them. Nick looked amused; Tommy looked scared. Rosalind waved enthusiastically at them.

Nick patted Tommy on the back. "All you, bud."

"What? Nick don't fucking—" But Nick was already gone. Tommy ran a hand through his hair like he was gearing up for a long night. Rosalind didn't understand. She was having fun, and now that Tommy was here, things could only get better.

"Is this your boyfriend, Rosalind?" asked Mrs. Tifton. "He's cute."

Tommy flushed. Rosalind loved it when he looked embarrassed. It was adorable. Tommy said that he wasn't her boyfriend anymore at the same time that Rosalind said, "Not at the moment."

"Not at the moment?" Mrs. Tifton repeated. "Oh you play the same little games I played at your age. Careful, I ended up with a baby."

"Fucking hell," Tommy muttered. "Come on, Rosalind. Get up."

"Why?" said Rosalind, confused. "I like it here."

Churchie entered then, out of breath from hurrying down the hall. "Oh my word," she said, taking in the mess. "I was told there was an incident." She flashed Tommy a grimace that he returned, along with a sad little wave.

"Churchie! You're here!" Rosalind exclaimed excitedly. That got her to her feet. She gave the woman a big hug.

"Hello, dear," Churchie said, sounding tired and sad. "Brenda, honey. Time for bed."

Tommy took the opportunity to steal Rosalind away. She looked back at the dining room forlornly.

"I want to sleep on the table. Tables are so comfortable," Rosalind informed Tommy, in case he would ever want to lie on a table of his own.

"You know what else is comfortable? Bed."

Rosalind made a face. Beds were boring; a table generated much more excitement. Although, a bed could be tolerable if Tommy slept in it with her. She would hate to be alone. "Will you be there with me?"

"If you want," said Tommy as they reached a massive staircase. It looked like it could kill her.

"I do want. Yes. I want this to happen," said Rosalind with a bit of a struggle. "I like the table, but I like you more." She stumbled up the first couple stairs.

"Okay, nope," said Tommy. He swept her into his arms. "I got you."

Rosalind giggled the entire way to her room. "How much can you lift?" She'd once known, but the number was evading her memory.

Tommy snorted. "A lot more than you weigh." He set her down gently on her bed. "Stay here, okay? I'm going to grab you something to eat."

He wasn't even slightly winded from carrying her up the stairs. Tommy was so cool. She would stay in her room, but he didn't say anything about staying on the bed. She clamored down onto the floor. It wasn't as comfortable as the table had been, but it would do. The room was spinning.

Tommy returned with a huge bag of popcorn sealed with a plastic yellow clip. He unrolled it and tried to hand it to Rosalind, but she pushed it away. She pulled her shirt up to cover her face. The lights were hurting her eyes.

"It's too bright," she complained. "I want the lights off."

"So demanding," said Tommy with a laugh. He flipped the light switch for her anyway. There was only a small lamp next to the bed providing any light to the room. "Now will you eat?"

"If you feed me." Rosalind opened her mouth expectantly.

Tommy dropped popcorn into her mouth, looking like he couldn't quite believe what he was seeing. He really was the greatest. He deserved the whole world, and Rosalind wanted to tell him that.

"I'm such a liar. I lie to you, Tommy," she said with the deepest sincerity. "If I was Pinocchio, my nose would be soooo long." She swallowed two more handfuls of popcorn. It was probably the best she had ever tasted. The plastic clip that had sealed the bag was just within her reach. Rosalind snatched it up and clipped it onto her nose. "Look! Tommy, look at me!" She squealed excitedly and laughed at her nasally voice.

"I see you, Rosalind." He fed her more popcorn.

"Now I _am_ Pinocchio. I'm Pinocchio except my nose is yellooww!" She broke into a fit of giggles.

With a very, _very_ patient sigh, Tommy carefully took the plastic clip off Rosalind's face. She sniffed. Now her nose felt funny.

"Why are you a liar?" He asked, just to humor her.

"Because I say I don't love you," she explained. "So I lie to you; I lie to Skye and Jane and Batty and Nick and Iantha and Daddy." She counted each person off on her fingers. "And…and I lie to me. To ev'rybodyy." With that, she threw her arms up like a gymnast sticking a landing and fell back to the floor with yet another drunken squeal.

Tommy watched her with an unreadable expression on his face. Rosalind gave him a big smile.

"I love you," she told him again. "That's the…the…" She scrunched her face up in concentration as she searched for the right word. "The honesty. I looove you." When he didn't say anything, she jabbed at him with her index finger. "Do you love me?"

Tommy awkwardly held her gaze but stayed quiet. Rosalind grew nervous.

"Of course I do," Tommy said in a hoarse whisper. He cleared his throat.

"YAY!" Rosalind dove at him and flung her arms around her neck. She caught him completely by surprise and planted a kiss right on his mouth. She peppered him with them over his check and his neck, but he squirmed away from her. He peeled her arms off him.

"Rosalind," he said firmly. He lightly pushed her until she was an arm's length away from him. "You need to go to bed."

"But I'm not tired," Rosalind insisted. She tried to maneuver around Tommy's hand, but he held her back with great ease.

"Fine," Rosalind conceded. "But I have to pee first."

Tommy watched her stumble into the bathroom. She didn't think she'd ever peed so much before. She couldn't stop giggling about it. She needed a bath. She was covered in wine. She ran the hot water to fill the bathroom's large clawfoot tub. She climbed in fully clothed, though she did take her socks off first. Socks in the bath would be unacceptably gross.

Tommy knocked on her door. "Rosy? What are you doing?" She could sense he was getting tired with her. She told him he could come in.

"Okay, what the fuck?" Tommy said upon entering. He gave an exasperated little laugh and rubbed his hand over the back of his neck. Rosalind shut the water off and submerged herself in the water. She rested her head against the lip of the tub and closed her eyes. Everything spun faster.

"Good night," she whispered.

"You can't sleep in there," said Tommy.

Rude. Of course she could. She was about to.

"Give me your hand." Tommy held out his own. Rosalind just rolled over in the tub. "Rosy, I swear to god."

"Noooo, I like the water."

"You need to _drink_ water," said Tommy.

That she did, but she didn't move. Tommy reached into the water and pulled up the plug. The water gurgled and began receding down the drain.

"Why did you do that?" Rosalind whined. "You're mean! I'll be cold."

"If you go to bed you won't be."

Bed was too far away. Rosalind curled up tightly on the floor of the tub. The water hadn't completely drained away yet, but it was close. "Can you bring me a blanket?"

Tommy groaned and sat on the bathmat. "I give up," he said. "Don't get excited, I'm calling for reinforcements." He pulled out his phone and called someone. "Hey, did I wake you up? Sorry. I have a bit of a situation, please help."

Reinforcements turned out to be Jane. Rosalind was grateful for that. She wouldn't have been able to endure the shame of Nick helping her through a second bathroom meltdown. Her father or Iantha would have been worse.

"A situation you have indeed," said Jane upon arriving.

"Save me," Tommy pleaded.

Jane wasted no time. "Alright, Rosalind. Get out. I'm not kidding. Give me your hand."

Rosalind just shook her head. She shivered, but she felt like any movements would be detrimental to her health. The world was tipping and turning so dramatically she would fall right on her face. Jane reached into the tub and snatched Rosalind's hand. "Sit up straight."

Rosalind didn't have the energy to fight her. "Slow," she instructed very seriously. Jane pulled her up slowly, as requested. Rosalind's stomach lurched. She tasted vomit on the back of her tongue. "Hang on, that kind of made me dizzy. Hold up." She squeezed her lips together tightly until her nausea subsided.

Once Jane had helped her fully into a sitting position, it returned violently. She couldn't hold it back this time. She stumbled out of the tub and prayed that she would at least make it to the toilet. She did, but just barely. She vomited four times consecutively, then rested her head on the toilet seat. Tommy handed her a glass of water and gave her back a quick, supportive scratch.

"I'll go to bed now," Rosalind moaned.

Jane held Rosalind's hair from her face as she threw up the water she'd just drunk. Tommy gathered her a change of clothes that he set next to Jane.

"I'm going to leave you with Jane," he said. He kissed the top of her head. "Feel better, okay?"

Rosalind nodded. When the nausea hit her again, she had nothing to throw up. She yacked and coughed, but her stomach was empty.

Jane helped her into fresh clothes and gave her some mouthwash. Rosalind hung heavily off of Jane as she lead her over to the bed.

"Isn't Tommy like…the greatest person out of all the persons?" Rosalind said as Jane covered her with a blanket.

"The absolute greatest," Jane agreed with a small, knowing smile.

"Want to know a secret?" Rosalind whispered, very loudly. If anyone else had been in the room, it wouldn't have stayed much of a secret. "I'm going to marry him one day."

Jane laughed. "That's not a secret. Everyone knows except you two." She flicked off the lamp, enclosing the room in total blackness. "Sleep now," she ordered. "Dream about your wedding."

That idea soothed Rosalind, and she was asleep in a matter of minutes. Jane let out a long sigh. Things were not okay. Rosalind was the practical sister, the responsible sister. She was too mature to drink herself sick. One by one, each of her family members were breaking under the stress and trauma. Jane had a feeling she was next.

She watched crime shows; she knew that the first 24 hours after an abduction were the most crucial. After that, the chances of the victims being found alive diminished away into almost nothing. It had been 27 hours since the Penderwicks had arrived at Arundel. Jane tried not to think about that. Just as she tried not to think about Skye and Jeffrey being victims of anything. Victim simply was an awful word.

Jane set a trash can next to Rosalind's bed before she left. She shut the door behind her with a soft click.

Tommy was waiting for her. "Is she okay?"

"She's sleeping," said Jane. "What happened?"

Tommy shrugged. "She had a lot of wine with Mrs. Tifton."

"Mrs. Tifton?!"

"I know. Shocking," said Tommy. "Wine was everywhere; they were breaking the bottles. It was grisly."

"Do you know a different Mrs. Tifton that I do?" asked Jane. It was like Final Destination, except instead of the group getting picked off and dying brutal deaths, they were systematically losing their minds.

"Rosalind said she still loves me," Tommy blurted out. "And I know I shouldn't be focused on that right now, but I am. It's selfish, but I can't stop thinking about it."

Oh, Rosalind. What a mess she had made.

"Tonight she said it?" Jane clarified.

"Yep," said Tommy. "Then quite literally threw herself at me."

Tommy told Jane everything, and it was hard for her to keep a straight face. Part of her hoped that Rosalind wouldn't remember any of it in the morning. Not because she knew her sister might not survive the humiliation of it all, but because Jane was hoping for the pleasure of telling her the story herself.

* * *

**A/N: This chapter was definitely inspired by my own experiences this past weekend. There was a point where I was lying on a table and put a clip on my face and called myself Pinocchio. My roommate broke up with her boyfriend and we smashed all the alcohol he bought. And I tried to sleep in the bathtub.**

**It was a whole mess. Drink responsibly, y'all.**


	19. Chapter 19

Sleep hadn't come easy for Jane. When it finally had, she'd dreamed of Skye getting shot trying to stop Dexter from hanging Jeffrey. When they were both dead, he dismembered their bodies and spread the pieces across the entire state of Massachusetts. With a scream, Jane had woken in a cold sweat, her face sticky with tears.

So when Rosalind got up at six a.m. to throw up, Jane was awake to hear her. Tommy was already with her, taking over Jane's role from the night before and holding back Rosalind's hair.

"Hanging in there?" asked Jane.

"Barely." Rosalind sounded as sick as she looked. "What are you doing awake? It's early."

Jane sat on the floor next to Tommy. "Oh, just nightmares. So many nightmares."

Rosalind patted Jane's knee, then she wretched. "I don't care what anyone tells you," she said through a cough. "Drinking makes everything worse." She gripped the side of the toilet bowl and dry heaved. She lay her head down on the seat and stretched an arm up to flush away her vomit.

"I could have told you that, dummy," Jane scolded. "You know better."

"I'm falling apart, Jane," Rosalind admitted. "I'm sorry. I haven't been a very good OAP."

"Forget that for once," said Jane. "Focus on yourself before you go more bonkers than you have already."

"How much of last night do you remember?" asked Tommy.

Jane cast a cautionary glance at him. She hoped he wasn't overly optimistic that sober Rosalind would confirm her rediscovered love for him. The chances of that happening were about zero.

"I remember breaking wine bottles with…with Mrs. Tifton." Even Rosalind looked like she didn't quite believe that part. "I remember you carrying me up the stairs."

That was cute. Tommy had left that part out of his story. It was pathetic on Rosalind's part, no doubt, but cute.

"And I remember being in the bathtub."

"Nothing in between?" Tommy pressed.

Rosalind thought for a minute. "No." Her face was riddled with guilt and embarrassment. "I didn't cause you too much trouble, did I?"

Tommy smiled through what Jane saw as obvious disappointment. "Nothing I couldn't handle."

Rosalind sat back from the toilet, and Tommy climbed to his feet. Not so subtly, he excused himself. Rosalind could sense something off.

When it was just Jane and Rosalind alone on the bathroom floor, Rosalind said, "He's lying to me, isn't he?"

Jane had hoped for the opportunity to tell her the tale of her drunken endeavors, but now that the time had come, she wasn't sure it was the right thing to do. If Tommy wanted Rosalind to know, he could have easily told her himself.

Then again, the poor guy didn't have a clue where he stood with Rosalind. He had a lot to lose by bringing it up. Jane didn't. Besides, they were Rosalind's own actions. She just needed to be reminded of them.

"Most certainly," said Jane, deciding to go for it. "Nothing about that statement was true. You gave him a ridiculously hard time and he couldn't handle it at all."

Rosalind winced. "How bad was it?"

"You confessed your undying love for him."

"Confessed my…oh no." The color flooded from Rosalind's face. She moved to stand up. "I have to talk to him."

Jane didn't trust Rosalind to make anything better by talking to him. She grabbed Rosalind's arm. "Are you going to take it back?"

"He knows I wasn't in my right mind, I'll just explain that I—"

"No," Jane interrupted. "Why do you insist on denying yourself happiness? You know you love him. God, you're worse than Skye." Jane wished she hadn't added that last bit. Skye and Jeffrey's relationship issues were trivial next to the looming threat of being murdered.

"It doesn't matter that I love him." Rosalind sounded tired. This was the first time Jane had heard her admit her feelings since their breakup. "We just don't work."

"Don't be ridiculous," Jane argued. "We have a textbook family disaster on our hands, and the _first_ person you went to about it was Tommy. It's been two days and he's still the only person who can calm you down."

Rosalind ignored most of Jane's argument, instead saying, "It hasn't been two days yet, Jane. It's barely over one. Don't say it's been two."

She was right. Two nights, but only one day. Jane chided herself for misspeaking. If 48 hours had already passed, that would mean that Skye and Jeffrey were statistically almost guaranteed to be found dead.

"Forget that I told you," said Jane, referring back to Tommy. "You blacked out. Use that as an excuse not to bring it up. No one needs your drama right now."

If Rosalind was going to keep playing with Tommy's heart while he went through hell right alongside the rest of them, Jane was going to drag him back to Gardam Street herself. She wouldn't let Rosalind use him. She could tell her sister was a little put out by her attitude, but Jane was too irritated with her to consider apologizing.

"I'm going back to bed," Rosalind said coolly.

Jane stayed seated on the bathroom floor long after Rosalind was gone. Nothing compelled her to move until her phone alerted her of a message from Tommy: _Whoops I told Iantha. She's PISSED and looking for Mrs. Tifton. 100% about to witness a murder._

Watching Iantha lay into Mrs. Tifton sounded like just the sort of pick me up that Jane needed. She felt cynical for thinking it, but a little selfishness now and then could not be helped.

Tommy was waiting for her at the foot of the stairs. They raced through the halls and found Iantha just as she was about to enter the formal dining room. Tommy and Jane followed close on her heels. Jane could feel anger radiating off of Iantha like an electric current.

Mrs. Tifton, to her credit, was on her hands and knees scrubbing wine off the floor.

"You got Rosalind drunk?" said Iantha, seething.

"I _found_ her drunk," Mrs. Tifton clarified. She finished scrubbing away a specific spot, then stood to face her adversary. "Since the damage was already done, I saw no harm in feeling a little better myself."

"That was a completely inappropriate lack of judgement." Iantha looked baffled. Furious, but baffled. "I have never liked you, and I don't care to try to now, but I will demand decent behavior from the woman who has continuously had the nerve to call my family unmanageable and rude."

"She stole a $900 wine. Would you call that polite?"

"I'll be talking to Rosalind about that," said Iantha. "But you are still an adult. You are a _parent_ and it is your responsibility to act like it, especially because of what we're all going through."

Jane wondered if part of that sentiment had to do with her father, who had not been acting at all according to those standards.

"It is not my job to parent someone else's child," said Mrs. Tifton. "Under any other circumstance I wouldn't be so tolerant of thievery in my own home. You should teach Rosalind that it won't serve her well in the real world."

"She's devastated! She's upset and she doesn't know how to handle it. I would expect you to see that, understand it, and deal with it responsibly. Tommy did that, and he's 19!"

Tommy took a step back, embarrassed. "Please don't bring me into this."

Iantha didn't even look at him, but she didn't mention him again. "I need you to grow up and act your damn age," Iantha continued to shout at Mrs. Tifton. "My husband is being completely unhelpful; he won't forgive me for sending Skye up here on Friday. I cannot have another adult in this house working against me because I can't—" Here Iantha started to cry. "I can't hold my family together on my own."

Just like that, Iantha's anger was gone. She took off her glasses, which were fogged up from her crying. They dangled at her side as they balanced precariously from the tip of her little finger. She covered her eyes with her other hand. She was silent; if it wasn't for the tears squeezing through her fingers, Jane wouldn't have known she was crying at all. Tommy was rooted to the spot. Just like Jane was, he was lost and unsure of what to do next.

Mrs. Tifton was not lost. She looked at Iantha with newfound empathy. Her hard expression vanished as whatever argument she had prepared evaporated. She took a step toward Iantha and took her glasses from her hand. She folded them neatly and set them on the dining room table. "I'm sorry."

Iantha merely nodded. Mrs. Tifton gave her a hug. Iantha was startled, but then she returned the gesture.

"I don't know how you've stayed so strong," Mrs. Tifton said. "But you are a gift to those girls." They were kind words, but Jane wouldn't say her inflection was. She sounded stern, like she was demanding that Iantha take her seriously. Her tone was probably the only reason Iantha did.

Jane decided right then it was time for her – and any other Penderwick, for that matter – to stop villainizing Mrs. Tifton. She felt strangely guilty for her continued shock at Mrs. Tifton's show of emotion and heart. In the face of pure evil and a true villain, Jane was forced to acknowledge that though she was flawed, Jeffrey's mother was no more wicked than the rest of them.

* * *

With Jeffrey lying next to her, Skye had been able to fall asleep for the first time in what had to be days. She had no way of knowing how long she'd slept for, but it felt like only a matter of minutes before she was jolted awake by Jeffrey being ripped away from her. He kicked and fought and swore at Dexter, trying to get back to her. He did land a few blows, but it wasn't enough. There was only so much he could do with his hands behind his back.

Dexter wasn't content with merely having Jeffrey's hands tied either. He wrapped his upper body in a long, heavy chain and secured him to the wall.

"When you struggle, and believe me, you _will_ struggle," Dexter told him. "You'll just pull them tighter."

When he looked at Skye, she shuddered. She felt dirty, like a bucket of sewer water had been dumped over her head.

"You and I are going to have a little fun today," said Dexter with a disgusting smile.

Skye's stomach turned over and nearly leaped from her mouth.

"Don't fucking touch her," said Jeffrey. "I'll rip you apart."

Dexter rolled his eyes. "How many times are you going to make me tell you not to threaten me?"

"If you even look at her, I fucking swear to god…"

Dexter clapped his hands together resolutely. "Okay. So that's how it's going to be." He scanned his eyes around the room. "Ah. Perfect." He pulled Skye's underwear from her pants and bunched them up in his fist.

Jeffrey's eyes widened. He spoke quickly and with greater desperation. "Don't do this. Dexter, I'm begging you. Don't do anything to her. You can—"

Dexter wrenched Jeffrey's jaw open and shoved Skye's underwear into his mouth. He fixed it in place with layers of rope. "I'll do whatever I want. Skye isn't your bitch anymore, Jeffrey. She's mine," he said menacingly. "Actually, she's my whore."

Jeffrey lunged at him, but Dexter easily stepped out of his reach. The chain pulled taut and flung Jeffrey back. Skye knew he was swearing even though nothing he tried to say was understandable. She felt a sob building up inside of her chest, but she refused to let it out.

It fought hard to escape as Dexter shackled her ankles and re-bound her wrists behind her. Skye grit her teeth so she wouldn't cry out as he cinched a chain around her elbows. They grazed against each other. She thought it might break something in her arm, tear a tendon if nothing else.

When he had finished, Dexter dragged her up onto her knees. From the way he was standing over her, Skye knew what was about to happen before he'd unzipped his pants. So did Jeffrey. He threw the full weight of his body against his restraints. They coiled so tight around him that already Skye could see blood running through the chain links from where they had cut him open. A single, stubborn tear ran down her cheek, but her sob was still trapped in her chest. The resulting pressure building up beneath her ribs was starting to hurt.

Dexter grabbed a fistful of Skye's hair and jerked her head back so she would look at him. "If you bite me, I'll fucking blow his brains out," he warned. She could see his gun in his jacket pocket. "Then I'll make you clean it, and I'll leave you in here with him until you're dead too."

Skye looked at Jeffrey. He was leaning heavily against the chain as he continued to shout incoherent threats at Dexter through his gag. Her eyes stung.

Dexter grabbed Skye's face and aggressively turned it back toward him. He squeezed her cheeks so that her mouth was forced open. "Do you understand me, bitch?"

Skye barely nodded once before Dexter shoved himself down her throat. She choked immediately, but Dexter pushed her head down until he was completely in her mouth. Her throat muscles closed as they tried to expel him from her, but he only grew larger, forcing her to swallow him. Skye tried to listen for Jeffrey past Dexter's moaning and heavy breathing. She could still hear him trying to protest, but barely. Dexter held her head down for so long her mind grew foggy. Her jaw ached; her lungs burned. She felt sick. She would throw up when he was done.

He thrust deep into her throat, then pulled back as he ejaculated so he sprayed all over her face. She'd been right; she vomited within seconds. Dexter leaped out of the way and looked at her distastefully as he zipped his pants back up again. Skye coughed and gasped for air. She was too busy struggling to breathe to hold her sob back anymore.

If Jeffrey hadn't been so chained up, Skye had no doubt he really would have ripped Dexter to pieces. He was still keen on trying, even though by now he had to know it would only dig his restraints deeper into his skin, which was already folding over the chains.

When Dexter had jumped clear of Skye throwing up, he had stepped into Jeffrey's radius – no more than a five foot semicircle. He faced Jeffrey, undoubtedly about to boast, and Jeffrey's foot caught him squarely between the legs. Skye let out a short breath of satisfied laughter as Dexter doubled over from the unexpected pain. She wiped her face on her knee to rid herself of the remnants of his climax.

Dexter shook off the blow and dove at Jeffrey. He folded his hand around his neck and slammed him against the trailer wall.

"Fight me all you want. I'm still going to fuck her in the ass until she bleeds," Dexter snarled in his face. Jeffrey wrenched against him but he couldn't break Dexter's hold. Dexter threw him to the ground and clapped shackled around Jeffrey's ankles.

"You know what?" said Dexter. "Your fucking slut just sucked my dick better than your mother ever did."

"Yeah, guess why that is," said Skye. She sat up straight. "'Cause every time she sucked you off she remembered she missed blowing Alec."

She didn't know why she'd said that. Well, she knew _why_ : he couldn't abuse her and ridicule Jeffrey without her mocking him right back. But she didn't know where that had come from. She'd blurted it out as the thought came to her. Jeffrey looked horrified. Skye couldn't tell if that was because he was scared for her or because those were his parents she'd been talking about. A bit of both, likely.

Dexter stood over Skye again, but this time she stared up at him with obvious defiance. Dexter rubbed at his chin like he couldn't understand where she had found such gall. He cracked the heel of his palm across the side of her face. He reached into his jacket and pulled out a ball gag. It was at least the size of a large lemon. Skye's jaws had to be pried open as far as they could so that Dexter could fit it between her teeth. "I had a feeling you'd get fucking mouthy," he said as he buckled the straps.

He paid her no more attention after that. He pulled the hook down from the ceiling and clasped it around Jeffrey's ankle shackles. Sex toys are a lot less proficient at muffling a person's sound. Skye couldn't move her mouth to form words, but when Dexter hung Jeffrey from the ceiling by his ankles, she didn't have a problem screaming. Dexter trained his phone on Jeffrey – his own this time, not the burner he had used to contact Mrs. Tifton. He was recording a video of him.

"Since I've been so kindly reminded of his existence, is there anything you'd like to say to your daddy, Jeffrey?"

Incapable of saying anything, Jeffrey remained quiet, squirming with discomfort at the realization he was being filmed.

"No? Alright, I'll go," said Dexter. "What kind of father lets this shit happen to his kid?"

At that, Jeffrey broke his silence with a muffled attempt at an objection. Skye wished she had just kept her mouth shut. She could sense Jeffrey's humiliation from the other side of the room, and Alec didn't deserve to delivered his own brand of psychological torture.

"As you can see, we're having a great time," Dexter narrated. He spun Jeffrey around, panning the camera over his injuries. He zoomed in on Jeffrey's bloody, torn nailbeds. None of the gauze bandages had lasted long before falling off entirely. Dexter firmly pinched one of Jeffrey's damaged fingers. His gag didn't hide his pained yell. A little scream jumped from Skye's throat. Tears streaked down her face. Dexter knelt down and stuck his phone in Jeffrey's face. It was turned red as all the blood rushed to his head. Jeffrey closed his eyes and turned away from the camera like he was afraid it would hurt him.

"I'm torturing your son, Alec," Dexter said proudly. "And you can't do a fucking damn thing about it." He smacked Jeffrey's face with the back of his hand with such force it knocked his head back toward the camera, and with that, he shut the video off and stowed his phone back in his pocket.

"Now what to do with you?" Dexter said to Skye. He tapped his hand over his mouth, brainstorming. He wandered over to the dog kennel. Skye's heart nearly stopped.

As it turned out, Dexter wasn't interested in torturing Skye with his tools. He pulled every box out of the crate and stacked them behind it.

"Get in," he ordered her.

Skye wasn't sure she would fit. She hesitated for too long, and Dexter dragged her across the floor. He blindfolded her and stuffed her inside the kennel himself. It was snug. She had to sit with her head bent and her knees tucked into her chest. It restricted her breathing; she had to focus on every breath she took. Already there was a dull pain gnawing at her spine.

"I'll be back in twelve hours to fuck you," said Dexter. "Maybe by then you'll remember that I own you."

Skye didn't think she could survive that long. It already felt like her neck could give out and snap at any moment. Skye's overwhelming need to cry was hard to fight, but she did. She wasn't able to breathe out of her mouth, she couldn't afford a runny nose. She did feel like he owned her. She felt insignificant, reduced to nothing but Dexter's plaything, a pawn in his mind games. She felt like a slave. She was one.

She heard a chain rattle, followed by a heavy thump as presumably, Dexter let Jeffrey down and he fell hard on the floor.

"Only because I think twelve hours upside down would kill you," Dexter explained to him. "And what's the point of that if I don't get to watch the life leave you myself?"


	20. Chapter 20

Iantha and Mrs. Tifton were bonding. That was a little too strange for Jane. She loved a good story about sworn enemies turned to friends when facing a common foe, but she wasn't comfortable watching it happen.

Tommy went back to check on Rosalind, so Jane decided to look for Batty. She hadn't talked to her little sister much; for all she knew, Batty could be drowning in deep sorrows and in desperate need of sisterly support. Predictably, she found her in the music room, where Batty was effectively not drowning in deep sorrows, or even shallow ones. She was sitting at the piano with Alec, who was giving her different tips.

"Relax your hand," he said. "You want to play that part softer." He demonstrated a cluster of gentle notes. Batty tried again, playing in a higher key than Alec had.

"There you go!" Alec praised. "Did you hear the difference?"

Batty nodded enthusiastically and carried on with the next portion of the song. It was then that Alec looked up and noticed Jane.

"Hi there," he greeted her.

"I came to see how you guys are doing," said Jane.

"How are you doing?"

Jane shifted her weight from one foot to the other, then back again. "Waiting on the inevitable, complete disintegration of my mental health," she admitted. "It happened to Rosalind last night."

"So I heard."

"What happened?" asked Batty without even the slightest of pauses in her playing. Jeffrey did that – held conversations while playing the piano. Quite effortlessly, too. Jane would never understand how either of them were capable of it.

"Oh, drinks were drunk, stuff was thrown and broken," Jane explained with the air of describing something of little importance. "It was a whole ordeal, but everything is fine now."

"You mean Rosalind was drunk," Batty said as her song came to a close. Nothing did slip by her anymore. "She isn't okay, is she?"

"Are any of us?"

Batty shrugged. Alec gave her a quick squeeze.

"We're trying our best." He was the voice of optimism. Jane thought he was probably the only one of them holding onto the belief that everything would be alright in the end. She could see the strain of that wearing on him. He probably hadn't slept at all yet.

"Do you know this one?" He asked Batty as he played the opening bars of a new song that Jane, unsurprisingly, could not say she recognized.

Batty did, however, and she joined in with him, playing the right hand notes while he played the left. Jane would have happily watched them for hours, but before they had even finished the song, Alec's attention was drawn to his phone buzzing in the pocket of his jeans. His face darkened as he looked at it. He stood from the piano bench so quickly that Batty jumped. That seemed to remind him she was there.

"Sorry." It was like he didn't know he was talking. "Keep playing. I'll be right back."

To Jane, it was obvious he was putting up an indifferent front. She didn't think he sounded indifferent at all, actually. He certainly didn't look it as he all but ran from the room. She followed him out.

Alec stopped in the middle of the hallway, just a few feet from the door. Whatever he was looking at made him drop his phone. He fell to his hands and knees and fumbled for it. He didn't move from his spot on the floor and he didn't realize that he had company.

"Motherf—" He didn't finish cursing. He beat his fist into the floor. He fell back onto his haunches as a voice came through the phone.

It was Dexter's. Jane gasped. Alec gave a start and whirled his head around at her. His eyes were filled with tears.

"—I'll go. What kind of father lets this shit happen to his kid?"

Alec jolted like he'd been hit. Jane felt a sob rising in her throat.

"As you can see, we're having a great time," Dexter's voice continued. Jane could hear chains, a muffled cry of pain and a strangled sort of wail. Alec threw his phone so hard it left a dent in the drywall, then instantly he scrambled for it back.

"I'm torturing your son, Alec, and you can't do a fucking damn thing about it."

Jane heard a loud thwack as skin struck skin, and then nothing else.

"Alec?" She ventured in a small, frightened voice. "What was that?"

Slowly, Alec straightened up. There was a spray of dust and cracked plaster as he slammed his hand through the wall. Not satisfied, he punched and tore at it until the hole was large enough to crawl through.

"He's right, Jane," said Alec, breathless, angry and utterly broken all at once. "I failed. I'm supposed to protect him; it's my job. But what the hell can I do?" He brushed the dust and drywall from his face. He smeared blood across it. He'd cut open his hand. "What am I supposed to do?"

He leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes as tears streaked down his face. He started muttering to himself, "Don't die. Oh god, please don't die." He pleaded with Jeffrey like he was in the hall with them, like he had any control over the matter. "You can make it. You'll make it." He grabbed at his hair and banged his head back against the wall as if doing so could knock whatever horrifying image he was seeing out of his brain. "I need you. Jeffrey, don't die. Please don't."

Jane had grabbed Alec's phone without ever consciously thinking about it. She knew it was a mistake, but her fingers moved on their own. It's screen was badly shattered. Dexter had emailed Alec a video. She muted it so not to torment him with it any further. She would only torment herself.

It was of Jeffrey. He was dangling upside down, bound with chains and gagged by rope. Almost every visible inch of his skin was bruised, bloody, or both. Jane wanted to scream. Maybe she did. Everything was fuzzy and swimming around her. She searched wildly for a decent place for her to empty her stomach. The ground tipped from underneath her.

She fainted.

* * *

Batty had known something was wrong from the moment Alec had gotten up from the piano. He'd tried to hide it, but Batty wasn't dumb. He'd barely made it from the music room; she could watch him from her seat on the piano bench. She saw him punch holes in the wall. She watched Jane take a look at his phone and promptly collapse into unconsciousness.

When her sister fell, Batty left the shelter of the piano. Alec was beside Jane on the floor in an instant. He gently rolled Jane onto her back and lifted her feet so her blood would flow faster to her brain. Within seconds, Jane was feebly stirring.

"Is she okay?" Batty asked nervously.

"She'll be alright," said Alec. He helped Jane sit up. "Go get you father and some water."

Batty hurried off as he asked Jane if she remembered where she was. Jane hesitated briefly as her awareness gradually came back to her. Batty found Mr. Penderwick in his bedroom. He was sitting in an armchair with a mug of coffee in his hand, staring into space.

"Daddy?"

Mr. Penderwick jumped and some of his coffee sloshed over his hand. He switched his mug to the other and wiped the coffee off on his pant leg. "What is it, sweetheart?"

"Jane fainted," said Batty. "Alec said I should come get you and to bring water."

"Right, of course," said Mr. Penderwick, looking flustered. There was a bottle of water sitting on his bedside table. He snatched it up and followed Batty back down the stairs.

Alec had gotten Jane to stand and though she was clearly shaken, she did look alright. She gingerly pressed her fingers to the back of her head and winced.

Mr. Penderwick hurried to give her a hug. "Jane, honey, are you okay? How do you feel?"

Jane took a step back. She didn't let him hug her.

"Show him," she said to Alec. He didn't look like he wanted to, but Jane was insistent. "I'm serious. Show him."

Alec stared at Jane, analyzing her. He reluctantly unlocked his phone and passed it to Mr. Penderwick, who went white and staggered on his feet.

"Is this what you meant?" Jane demanded of their father. "When you said Dexter was Jeffrey's problem?"

Mr. Penderwick's eyes were glued to the screen. Batty didn't know what he was looking at, but she knew she should be grateful not to.

Jane was sobbing. "When you wished Jeffrey would just die if it would save Skye?" She shoved him with both hands. He stumbled back, but his eyes never strayed from the phone. Jane screamed at him. "IS THIS WHAT YOU FUCKING MEANT, DADDY?"

Batty didn't know what was going on. She started to cry. Her father couldn't have said those things; he wouldn't. But she saw the agonizing guilt on his face, and she knew he had. Jane was so distraught and angry that it scared Batty, and confused her too. She couldn't think of what would rattle her sister so thoroughly. Unless Jeffrey was dead.

Jane was ready to pounce on Mr. Penderwick, kicking and screaming, but Alec grabbed her arm. Batty was equally frightened by his potential response, but he didn't say a word. He didn't do anything.

Mr. Penderwick finally handed Alec back his phone in a horrified daze. When he answered Jane, his voice was thick with tears that had not yet spilt. "Of course it isn't. I didn't mean any of it. I'd never – I didn't – I wouldn't want –" He was too shocked and shaken to find the right words to complete any attempt at a sentence.

Alec took a deep breath. "I'm not angry with you, Martin. I think we all feel that way about our kids, but we should be smart enough to keep it to ourselves." He truly didn't seem angry, just destroyed.

"If I could trade places with Jeffrey, I would in a second," said Mr. Penderwick.

"So would I."

"Is Jeffrey…" Batty didn't want to ask, but she had to. "Did Jeffrey die?"

Mr. Penderwick, Alec, and Jane each seemed startled that Batty was there. Her father hugged her earnestly.

"No, Batty. No," he said. He kissed her head. "He's alive and we have that to be grateful for."

* * *

He hadn't at all yet, but still during the twelve hours Dexter was gone, Jeffrey never tried to sleep. He sat with his back against the wall and looked at Skye the entire time. He couldn't bear to see her like that, bound and caged like an animal. Worse than an animal, really. Nevertheless, he forced himself to keep his eyes trained on her.

He'd done this to her. Not directly, true, but in the end what difference did that make? A lump was permanently lodged in his throat. If by some miracle they both managed to survive, he would spend the rest of his life buried in her debt. There was nothing he could do to make up for what being his friend was presently putting her through. Except for maybe die. He wished Dexter would just finish the job and kill him. Maybe then he would let Skye go.

 _He might not_ , a voice in the back of his head told him. Jeffrey shoved it away. He couldn't defend her, so dying was his only potential weapon. He stretched his hands against their chains. He couldn't feel them anymore. They were no longer tingling; his left hand's tattered nail beds weren't throbbing. Even the bite of the chains had subsided.

Dexter hadn't been lying. The chain wrapped around Jeffrey's body had been tightened so much by his struggling that he could scarcely breathe. His skin had been rubbed raw and the chains were red with his blood, but he'd fight them again if Dexter came back for Skye. When. Jeffrey wasn't naïve enough to think that he wouldn't. Not anymore. Before Skye had exposed Jeffrey's feelings, he thought that that cop had been right and Dexter was avoiding hurting Skye when he could. It was different now, just like Jeffrey had warned Skye it would be. He despised himself for it, but he felt betrayed by her. She had signed up to be abused and raped and tortured to protect him, and he couldn't stop thinking about how she'd broken her promise. Of course, that wasn't the real issue. He despised himself for not stopping her, too. He let her take the fall for him like a fucking coward. Jeffrey despised himself for a lot of reasons, actually.

He'd worked his jaw for hours, trying to spit his gag out of his mouth, but the ropes hadn't even loosened. He'd given up long ago, but he was still sore.

Dexter went straight for the cage when he walked in. "Twelve hours, right down to the minute," he said as he unlocked the cage door. "Do you think she's dead?"

Jeffrey had thought about that. Skye couldn't move or talk. She easily could have suffocated and Jeffrey wouldn't have known. As Dexter pulled her out of the cage, she looked stiff and sore, like she had lost the functioning of her limbs. She was alive, but Jeffrey didn't give himself any time to feel happy about that. There was nothing to be happy about while Dexter was running his hands over Skye's bare body. Jeffrey strained against his chains as Dexter groped at Skye's chest. He clenched his teeth into the underwear balled up in his mouth. That way he wouldn't suck it down his throat when he gasped as the chain links split more of his skin open.

Dexter thoughtfully watched Jeffrey laboring against his restraints. He dropped his hand from Skye's chest, contemplating something. Jeffrey saw her shudder. It made him nauseous. Dexter stepped away from Skye and took Jeffrey's chin in his hand. He didn't want to look at him, but Jeffrey forced his glare directly into his eyes. Dexter smirked at him and took out his pocketknife. He slid the tip under the ropes tied across Jeffrey's mouth. As it cut them away, the knife sliced into his cheek.

"Go ahead," sneered Dexter. "Talk. I actually want to hear you beg."

With some difficulty, Jeffrey shut his mouth. He would probably comply with that demand soon enough, but for as long as his self-control would allow it, Jeffrey wasn't going to submit to it. His cheek stung. Beads of blood rolled from his cheek to the base of his neck. His mouth was so dry it felt like it was coated with sand. It took him a while to work up enough saliva for it, but Dexter was so desperate for him to grovel, he stayed easily within range: Jeffrey spit in his face.

Dexter turned purple with fury. He raised his hand as if to strike Jeffrey, but he stopped. He composed himself and instead wiped his face clean. He turned his back on Jeffrey without addressing his indiscretion at all. He was on Skye in a heartbeat. He flipped her roughly onto her stomach. She kicked at him ferociously, but he trapped her by kneeling on the back of her legs as he slid out of his pants.

Jeffrey strenuously tugged on the chain again. What was he even trying to accomplish? Ripping it from the wall? If that's what worked, sure. Naturally, it didn't. He could fight forever and he'd never get himself free. Skye's dreadful cry when Dexter entered her from behind shredded Jeffrey's heart inside his chest. His legs gave out. He fell. There went his self-control. Fuck resisting; if he had to beg on his knees, he had to. Skye's screaming grew progressively louder as Dexter thrust with increasing force.

"Stop Dexter, please." His voice aggressively wavered as Dexter gripped Skye's arms, digging his fingers deep into her triceps in order to brace himself. "You want me to beg? I'll beg. Please. Stop it, you're hurting her more than me. That's not what you want. You're trying to punish me, so punish _me_. I'm the one who deserves it. You should be hurting me. It should be me. Please, just stop."

His supplication stopped nothing. Dexter continued thrusting eagerly. Skye lurched back and forth as he buried himself inside her, her face smashed against the carpet. Dexter grunted and moaned; Skye sobbed and she screamed.

Jeffrey closed his eyes, but that didn't keep him from hearing Dexter's skin slapping against Skye's. He flinched harder at the sound of each subsequent thrust. He expected to cry, but he didn't. He was too furious, too shocked this was genuinely happening. His tear ducts were stunned dry.

"He won't even look at you, slut," Dexter panted. "He's not even trying to save you."

Jeffrey's eyes opened, but he fixed them on the ceiling. "You can't call her a slut when you're..." _Raping her_. He couldn't say it. The word was like acid. It would burn his tongue. Just the thought of using it choked him. Dexter ignored him and tirelessly kept on humping Skye.

"Get off of her," Jeffrey begged. He was more enraged than he'd thought he ever could be, but that didn't reflect in his speech. He only sounded despairing and desperate. "Please, you've made your point. Get off of her!"

"I think you mean," said Dexter, mid-thrust. "Get _out_ of." The end of his response trailed off with the oncoming of a loud, satisfied moan as he finished inside Skye. He rolled off her and said, "Request granted." He flopped back on the floor next to Skye as he caught his breath.

He'd fucked her bloody, just as he'd promised. Skye didn't move. She lay motionless right where he'd left her, trembling as she cried. Jeffrey looked away. Deeply agitated, he fell, knocking his head into the wall. It was soundproofed, so it wouldn't have hurt except the impact made him bite his tongue.

Jeffrey couldn't remember the last time he had prayed to anything, but he would try whatever he could. He silently pleaded with God to get Sky out. He didn't care what happened to him as long as she was safe and free. And out of Dexter's reach. As an added bonus, Jeffrey also asked for the opportunity to eviscerate Dexter with his bare hands.

Dexter got to his feet and dusted his hands on the front of his pants. Skye recoiled at his movement. He stared at her like a hungry predator and swiped his tongue around his mouth. Jeffrey's blood was rushing in his ears as angry adrenaline pumped through him. He half expected to burst free from his restraints as a ginormous, green rage monster.

"Go. Leave," he commanded. His voice hardly worked he was so furious. It came as a breathless whisper. He took a deep breath and repeated himself more forcibly.

Dexter chuckled. "You don't want to hang out?"

"Leave before I—"

"Before you what? Glare at me?" But he did look ready to go. He stepped over Skye as he said to her, "Thank you, my dear."

Jeffrey ground his teeth and accidentally caught the inside of his cheek between his back molars, but he didn't unclench his jaw until Dexter left.

"Holy shit, Skye, I—" He didn't know how to finish. What could he say to her? If one more fucking worthless apology came out of his mouth he would devour his own tongue. He wouldn't tell her he was sorry. _I'm sorry_ was lazy, an automatic response. In the end, it meant nothing at all. But he had to say something to her. She couldn't see; she couldn't speak. To leave her senseless to everything but pain would be a special kind of selfish cruelty.

"Skye, I love you." He didn't think that one through. Undeniably, it was stupid, but it was all he had. "I probably shouldn't say it, but I do. Whichever way you want it to mean, I love you."

Now that it was out, he kind of regretted it. Skye had been resisting that for months, it might not comfort her at all. It was the only thing he could come up with any sort of significance. Unfortunately, having said it (and instantly wishing he hadn't), he was back to not knowing what the fuck he could possibly say. He blamed himself astronomically. He really would spend every one of his remaining moments on Earth searching for some way to make up for even the most miniscule facet of the trauma he had put her through. He didn't know how to address it. It was his fault, and he knew it, but Skye had so adamantly tried convincing him not to blame himself for anything, so he didn't say that again. It wouldn't make her feel any better. He didn't have a single damn thing to say that would.

Although, who said he _did_ have to address it? Maybe supporting her traditionally was a lost cause. How could he? He couldn't possibly fathom what she was going through. He just wanted to distract her, to find some way to help her even if it was small. What he said didn't have to be meaningful, he just had to talk.

So that's exactly what he did. The first thing that came to mind was to tell her what she had missed in the month they hadn't spoken. He'd give a detail from each day if he could. He felt nervous talking to her like this. He could talk as much as anyone, but he'd never put so much pressure on his own conversational skills – particularly his skills in holding a one-way conversation.

"You know, uh, after I, um, after I left on your birthday," he stumbled through the beginning, his heart pounding. He looked directly at the wall opposite him, careful to keep Skye's naked, battered form out of his line of sight. "I drove over halfway home and turned around. I wanted to apologize. I didn't really know what for, but I wanted to work something out. I made it all the way back to Gardam Street, then chickened out. I sat in my car around the corner for almost two hours, totally convinced I was going to go back in eventually, but, well, you know I never did. I gave up and went home. I was so mad at myself. I kept punching the steering wheel and everything – it was…a sight, let me tell you."

Skye's sobbing grew louder. For a moment Jeffrey worried that he had made a misjudgment, but then her crying slowed to sniffling.

"Do you want me to stop?" He asked. He allowed himself a fleeting glance at her to see her response. She shook her head and sniffed.

"Okay," he hesitantly began again. "I got home late, so my mother didn't hear me come in. She was shocked to see me in the morning, of course, and for some reason I decided to tell her you'd asked me to leave. I didn't say why though, I wasn't _that_ stupid. She acted sympathetic, but in that way that's not actually supportive at all. Kind of like 'aww sorry your friend that I hate is a bitch after all.' I was so mad that I didn't speak to her for days."

Skye shifted and sat up shakily. Jeffrey's eyes flit toward the movement, but he wrenched them away again.

"Usually when I'm pissed off like that I'll play the piano, but I just locked myself in my room and binged Friends. I was on season five by Tuesday. I think I was depressed. It did kind of make me feel better though, in a super unhealthy way. All their problems are so fucking embarrassing it made me less worried about mine. Like, true my best friend won't talk to me, but hey, at least I'm not Ross saying the wrong name at the altar."

Skye was definitely following his voice, but blindfolded, her sense of direction was less than stellar.

"A little to the left," Jeffrey directed her gently. "Yeah that's better." He gulped and hoped to wash down his sudden impulse to cry as she struggled across the floor. With both her arms and legs tied, she could only inch along like a worm.

"Careful," he said. "You're like two feet from the wall."

Skye spun herself around so her back faced the wall. She scooted sideways toward Jeffrey. When her body brushed against his, she lay her head against his shoulder. She almost missed, but Jeffrey repositioned himself quickly so she would find her target. His tears finally spilled over, flowing rapidly. Skye was still crying as well. It hurt him to look at her face.

Her skin had reddened near the edges of the blindfold. The ribbon was pulled so tight Jeffrey could make out the shape of her eyes underneath the cloth. Her chin and her neck were both coated thickly with saliva from her drooling through the ball gag. He couldn't do anything to remove that with its leather straps buckled like a belt. His hands were useless, but he did have one thought. Granted, all things considered it might be a horrible idea, but it was a thought.

"I think I can get the blindfold off with my teeth," he said. "Would you want me to try?"

"Uh huh." Skye nodded. That was the only thing she could say. She sat up so that he could reach her.

After a moment's nervous delay, Jeffrey nipped at the ribbon above her ear. It was stretched flat around her head, he couldn't get a grip on it. He tried six times, but nothing.

"Can I—can I use my tongue?" It felt disgusting to ask. It didn't matter that he was only trying to help her. Touching her at all felt like he was violating her.

"Uh huh," Skye said again.

Jeffrey felt a little sick as he pressed the tip of his tongue against her hair. Her forcibly slid it under the edge of the ribbon. It just barely lifted, but it was enough. He caught the ribbon with his teeth. Patiently, he nibbled at one spot until he had nearly half the width of the band of cloth in his mouth. He had to tug harder that he had thought he would, but after a few cautionary trial runs, he pulled the ribbon up from her face and dropped it from his mouth. Skye rapidly blinked for a long time as her eyes readjusted. She held eye contact with Jeffrey as they did. Her eyes welled up, and she leaned back against his chest and rested her head in the crook of his neck.

Jeffrey struggled to settle his breathing, but he started talking again anyway. He picked up where he had left off. "Churchie knew I was in a bad mood and she kept making me all these different desserts, which was great, but I think it encouraged me to keep moping around," he admitted. Some of Skye's hair ended up in his mouth. He brushed the side of his jaw over the top of her head to pull it out.

He decided to pray for one more thing: the ability to incessantly talk until Skye wanted him to stop, no matter how long that would be.


	21. Chapter 21

Jane always kept a stash of books in the family car in case of emergencies. She'd never been so pleased with herself about that before. She had gone for _The Selection_ ; she had read it four times already, it was her safest choice. But today even Maxon Schreave did little to raise her spirits.

Sitting still made her mind wander, so she paced the hallway with her nose still buried in the book. Jane had been known to read in a variety of strange ways: while at a red light when she was driving, in trees, on top of the refrigerator. Once on vacation, she had sat in the elevator and happily read her book while she traveled up and down the hotel's many levels with its other patrons. Pacing while reading? That was new.

It wasn't that her mind didn't wander when she paced; it did, but Jane was battling so much anxiety and distress that walking the length of the hallway a hundred times helped her fend off a panic attack. She couldn't get Jeffrey out of her head. When reading, she only glossed over the words – they did little to penetrate the vivid picture she had of Jeffrey chained up and beaten. All she could hear was Dexter saying, "I'm torturing your son, Alec." It ran through her mind on a loop like a broken record.

Earlier, when she had first regained consciousness, she'd thought it was another one of her horrendous dreams. She'd been relieved, unaware that she had passed out. It took her some time to piece together what had happened and register that she was lying on the floor. It wasn't until she'd seen the hole Alec had punched into the wall that she'd finally understood. She hadn't been dreaming at all. Jeffrey really was being tortured like that. Jane had cried about it for six straight hours before her tears ran dry. Since then, there had still been several intermittent bouts of crying. Her last fit had been almost forty minutes ago. That was the record for the evening. Another one was coming soon, she could feel it.

She was finding it harder and harder to focus on the novel. She couldn't stop thinking about Alec either: how he had pulverized the poor wall, how he'd said Dexter was right to say that he had failed as a father. That played through her mind repetitively too, as did him begging Jeffrey to live.

From there, her thoughts drifted to her own father. Hours ago, she had come to the realization that shouting at him about what he had said about Jeffrey in front of Jeffrey's dad hadn't been the brightest of ideas. Even though Alec had been honest about not being angry (he and Mr. Penderwick had even driven down to the police station together), it had not been fair of Jane to force him to hear it.

But if Alec could forgive Mr. Penderwick, Jane supposed she could as well. She did want to. Harboring animosity was pointless, but she was finding it difficult not to. Thankfully, he wasn't pushing her. She knew her father was beyond ashamed, and that did help, but it was hard to forget what he had said with such a graphic image of Jeffrey seared into her skull.

And she was terrified for Skye. She didn't know if she should be upset Skye hadn't been shown in the video or relieved that she hadn't been hanging right next to Jeffrey. She could only hope that Skye wasn't receiving similar treatment as him. Jane had heard her crying, so at least as of that morning she was alive. Dexter didn't resent her the same way, so there was a chance she was okay. Of course, there was an equally likely chance Dexter would hurt her just to hurt Jeffrey. She read books, she watched tv; she knew how it often went. Jane didn't let thoughts dwell too long on that particular possibility.

Reading had helped distract her for a while (she was already more than halfway done with her book), but it wasn't doing the trick anymore. What she really wanted was to find Alec. It wasn't that she wanted to talk about it; it was just that Alec was the only other person who fully understood the horror of Dexter's taunt. Not even Mr. Penderwick did, not completely. All Jane wanted was to be with someone who was very purposefully not talking about the exact same thing as her; someone who maybe felt worse.

Around an hour earlier she had seen Alec in the game room with Mrs. Tifton. They weren't playing anything; Mrs. Tifton had spread dozens of Jeffrey's childhood photos over the pool table. That was weird for Jane to think about. Alec hardly had an idea of what Jeffrey had looked like as a little kid.

Mrs. Tifton would still be with him; Jane didn't know how she would feel about that, but if she was going to try to be more internally accepting of the woman, now was as good a time to start as any. Besides, Iantha had voluntarily hung around her for much of the day, that had to count for something. They probably hadn't left yet. Jane would look there first. In the game room's doorway, Jane abruptly froze, mid-step. Alec was there, and he was with Mrs. Tifton.

He was kissing her.

"Oh!" Jane exclaimed. She was startled; she couldn't help it.

Mrs. Tifton jumped back from Alec, red in the face. Alec only looked a little uncomfortable. There were traces of an awkward, but amused smile on his lips as he wiped them dry with his thumb.

"Sorry," said Jane, embarrassed herself. "I'm going to leave now. Um, have fun."

"No. No, I'll go," said Mrs. Tifton hastily. She touched her hand to Alec's chest. "We shouldn't be doing this right now."

Jane moved out of Mrs. Tifton's way as she backed toward the door.

"Not to say it was a mistake," she told him. She stumbled into the doorframe. She steadied herself and stepped out of the room even more flustered. "It wasn't, but, well, goodnight Alec."

She fled down the hall. Alec started sliding photographs back into their box.

"Thanks, Jane." He sounded like he wanted to laugh but he couldn't quite remember how.

"Oops," said Jane, finding herself feeling the same. "You should go after her."

"You think?" Alec fit the lid back on the box. He had one last photo still in his hand.

"Yes! Now!"

"I don't know if I should take advice from teenagers," he joked.

"She's confused, go unconfuse her."

Alec smiled at Jane – a genuine smile, though it fell from his lips just as quickly as it had come. He stopped before he passed her. "Hey." He gave her shoulder a squeeze. "You okay?"

Jane decided to be honest. "Uh, no. I'm not."

"I can't stop thinking about it either."

Jane sniffed. She felt threatened again by tears. "Does Mrs. Tifton know?"

Alec shook his head. "Here," he said softly, then handed her the picture in his hand. "Churchie brought this. It's from Friday night."

Jane took it from him nervously. She was tempted to shred it. She had spent a lot of time scrolling through pictures on her phone, but this one was different. Skye was clinging onto Jeffrey's back, barely holding on and laughing. Both of them were. Jane hated it. How long after that had Dexter come for them? Twenty minutes? Hours? At least Skye had had some fun with Jeffrey that night. It hadn't just gone from bad to worse to nothing on Earth could possibly be more horrible. Jane tried to take some comfort in that, but it was difficult for her to find any. She held the picture to her chest, unsure if she should treasure it or burn it.

"Thanks," she said. "Now please, go."

"I'm not abandoning you, am I?" said Alec.

"No," Jane lied. "I'll be fine. Honest."

Alec didn't look like he believed her, but he left anyway. Jane put the picture on the pool table. Solitude wasn't a good option for her anymore. It probably never had been. She didn't know what to do with herself. She couldn't keep herself busy. She had even tried funneling her emotions and her wishes into writing. She had opened a new note on her phone and titled it _Sabrina Starr Rescues a Penderwick_ , thinking that if she couldn't direct her thoughts away from Skye and Jeffrey's fate, she could channel them into more optimistic dreaming. In the end, the fantasy of it had only made her more upset and angry, and she stopped before she'd written even a paragraph. Skye probably wouldn't want her legacy tainted by Sabrina Starr anyway.

She did have news. Her sisters would undoubtedly be interested in what she'd just seen. It would give them something fresh to discuss that wasn't all doom and death and torture.

 _MOPS!_ She texted them. _MOPS now!_ Then she realized that they might panic (especially Rosalind), and she added. _Don't freak out, it's a good thing. I think. I'm in the game room._

Batty got there first. Jane told her nothing except that the topic wasn't about Skye or Jeffrey. Batty didn't pressure her for details; she'd always been much more patient than her siblings. She hopped onto the pool table. She caught sight of the picture Alec had left with Jane, and she flipped it upside down without really looking at it.

It only took another minute or so for Rosalind to join them, looking flushed. "Everything is okay, right?" She confirmed. "I know you said not to, but I can't help but worry."

"Yes, no additional bad things have happened," Jane promised. She refused to say that everything was okay when it so very much was not.

"Alright then," said Rosalind, looking relieved. "MOPS, come to order."

"Forget that," said Jane. "It's not important. I'm too excited." That, and Skye was always the one to follow up and second the motion. Jane was not about to do it in her place. She didn't need yet another reminder of her sister's absence.

"What is it?" asked Batty.

Jane bounced a little on the balls of her feet. "I think tonight I became the world's biggest cockblocker."

"Jane!" Rosalind reprimanded, looking to Batty.

"How come?" said Batty.

Jane and Rosalind both stared at her.

"What? I know what it means."

Rosalind shook off her surprise with a shake of her head. "Okay Jane, who did you cockblock?"

Jane grinned. "This is _big_. I don't know if you're ready."

"Just tell us," said Rosalind.

"Alec!"

Rosalind looked perplexed. "Alec? Wh— _ohh._ "

Jane nodded enthusiastically. "He was kissing Mrs. Tifton. I interrupted; it was awkward and she left, but they were definitely kissing. With tongue."

"Oh my…what?!" Rosalind said as she continued to process this bit of shocking news.

"I told you it was big."

"I can't believe it," said Rosalind.

"I can," said Batty, again surprising both of her sisters. "You haven't noticed how they've been connecting?"

 _"NO!"_ Jane and Rosalind said together.

"They're spending all their time together," said Batty. "How self-focused are you people?"

"Very," said Jane, unabashed.

"Does this mean that they will get back together?" asked Batty.

"No," said Rosalind. "They're only drawn to each other because they're suffering the same thing." After a pause she added, "It is interesting though."

"They could," said Jane. "Mrs. Tifton said it wasn't a mistake. She just said that they shouldn't _right now."_

"And she's right," Rosalind sniffed. "They shouldn't. How can they focus on that? It's disrespectful to Jeffrey."

Batty snorted, then in a drunken voice, she mimicked Rosalind, "'Tommy, I love you! Oh you still love me? We should get married!'"

Rosalind turned scarlet. "How do you know about that?"

"Guilty," said Jane cheerfully.

"I was drunk! It's different," said Rosalind.

"Maybe," said Jane. "But when you were completely sober, you tried to shower with Tommy. Explain that one."

Rosalind's mouth dropped open. "He told you?" She sounded betrayed.

"Nick did."

"Asshole," Rosalind grumbled before shifting the conversation away from her own troubles. "Alec and Mrs. Tifton have almost twenty years of problems to work out. This isn't the time for it."

"Or it's the best time," said Batty. "What do they have to lose?"

"Jeffrey!"

"Right, because if they make out or not will decide his fate," said Jane, rolling her eyes. "I think it's romantic. They're rediscovering their love despite tragedy."

"Love is a big word," said Rosalind. "You really don't think it's taking advantage of it? Tragedy?"

Ah. Now, Jane understood. Rosalind was projecting. She felt guilty about Tommy.

"No," Jane promised. "If it doesn't hurt anyone, I think we should find happiness wherever we can get it."

"You don't think they're using each other?"

"I don't," said Batty. "I've been watching them. It's helping."

Rosalind sighed. "Then I wish Daddy and Iantha would be more like them."

Jane and Batty nodded. The sisters lapsed into silence, each lost in thought.

Finally Batty asked, "Jane? What happened this morning? With Alec?"

Jane gave a start as everything she had been trying to bury rose again to the forefront of her brain. "You don't want to know."

"I have to," said Batty, choking up a little. "I've been trying to figure it out all day. No one will tell me."

Rosalind's face scrunched with concern and confusion. "Something happened this morning?"

Jane rubbed tears from her face as quickly as they started to fall. "You mean you haven't seen how Alec redecorated one of the walls?"

Rosalind shook her head. Jane kept wiping at her silent tears.

"You fainted, Jane," said Batty. "You were screaming at Daddy and I don't even know why. It scared me. Please, I need to know."

Rosalind looked ready to faint herself. Jane's bottom lip trembled. Batty didn't understand how lucky she was not to know. Knowledge was a bigger burden than Jane had ever realized. She had spent hours wishing she hadn't followed Alec and she hadn't looked at his wretched phone.

"Please," said Batty. "If Jeffrey isn't dead, then what is it?"

Jane took many deep breaths to build up the courage she needed to speak. "Dexter sent Alec a video of Jeffrey. He's torturing him, he really is." She wouldn't give them any more details than that. She fell apart. She hadn't truly, horribly cried in more than an hour; it was long overdue. Rosalind wrapped Jane in a hug. It did little to calm her, but it did feel nice. Batty sat stock still on top of the pool table, then she abruptly rushed from the room. That made Jane sob even harder. Batty thought the world of Jeffrey.

"I shouldn't have told her," Jane cried. "I knew it. I shouldn't have said."

"She asked you," Rosalind consoled her. She squeezed her tight. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Jane shook her head, but as she did, she said, "He looked awful. _Awful_. It's haunting me."

"I know, honey. I'm so sorry." Rosalind was crying too. Jane found a strange comfort in that.

"Rosalind?" asked Jane. "Do you think – do you think God is real?" Their family had never been a religious one.

"I don't know," said Rosalind. "But right now I'd like to think that he is."

Jane found a strange comfort in that too. "And do you think they're going to come home? Honestly?"

Jane felt Rosalind shudder up against her. "I have to believe that they will."

Forty-eight hours had passed. Jane was finding it harder and harder to believe it herself.

"If…" She steeled herself to voice something she had never wanted to even think, let alone say. "If Jeffrey is going to die at the end of all of this," her voice broke into a whisper. "I hope it's sooner than later."

* * *

As she ran out of the room, her sisters would think she was on the cusp of her own breakdown; Batty was well aware of that fact.

Her sisters would be wrong. She was sure the time would come eventually, but at the moment, she wasn't running off to cry. She had some things to say to her parents. They were easier to find than she had expected. Both of them were in their room, the first place Batty looked. They weren't shouting at each other (that was a relief), but they were still arguing.

"You can't play the blame game anymore," said Iantha. "It's not my fault, or Brenda's, or Jeffrey's, or anyone's but Dexter's."

"I know it's not Jeffrey's fault!" Mr. Penderwick snapped. Whatever the exact torture he'd been shown earlier was, it had shaken him to his core. "I don't blame him. I'd die for that boy. Right now."

"That's certainly a change of heart," said Iantha. "I'm glad we're at least getting somewhere."

"How many times do I have to apologize for the same thing? I was upset, and I said something I'd never actually mean."

"Yes, but you haven't apologized to me!" Iantha said angrily. "I love you, Martin, do you understand what it does to me when you look at me like I killed Skye myself? On top of everything else? I feel responsible enough already, I need you to support me."

"I don't know how to do that."

"Don't you? You've always been the most supportive man I know and you don't know how to do that? Tell me you don't blame me!"

"I'm not sure that I don't. I won't lie to you."

"Well, I wish you would." Iantha's shoulders drooped as tears caught up with her. "Because that hurts me. More than you know."

Mr. Penderwick sighed. "That I _am_ sorry for."

Iantha laughed a pained, sarcastic laugh. "And you said you wouldn't lie to me."

They made Batty angry. All this fighting was a waste of time. "Would you both just stop?" she demanded.

Mr. Penderwick and Iantha spun around in shock.

"What is wrong with you?" said Batty. "How come Mrs. Tifton is handling this better than you? How come I am?"

Her parents continued to stare at her, no less shocked than before.

"Why can't you stop fighting?" asked Batty, tired and defeated. "It's exhausting. No more stupid arguing. I can't take it."

Iantha and Mr. Penderwick looked at each other, then back to Batty.

"You're right," said Iantha. "We're sorry, Batty."

"We most definitely are," Mr. Penderwick agreed. "I realize I've been rather brainless these past couple of days. That can't have made things any easier for you. For any of you."

Batty sniffed, unsatisfied. "You know what I think?"

"What's that?" said Mr. Penderwick.

"I think if Jeffrey's parents can kiss and make up after years, you can after days."

Iantha's eyes widened. "If they can—"

"Yes," Batty nodded. "Your turn. I'm sick of this. You got married for a reason."

"One more time," said Mr. Penderwick. "Mrs. Tifton and Alec were—"

 _"Yes,"_ Batty interrupted impatiently. "Jane saw."

"Heavens," he said. "That puts some things into perspective, doesn't it?"

"I suppose it does," said Iantha.

At first it seemed like neither of them wanted to actually kiss and make up, but once they started, they didn't stop. Batty almost had to look away, but then her father pulled back.

Still holding Iantha's face in his hands, he said, "I am sorry, Iantha. Truly. I shouldn't blame you. It's easier than blaming myself, but that is selfish, and I'm sorry."

Iantha smiled sadly as her eyes filled with tears again. "I told you. It's no one's fault but Dexter's. That includes you."

"And I do love you, my wonderful wife," Mr. Penderwick said. _"Amantium irae amoris integration est."_

Then he began crying, and Iantha cried with him. They held each other and wept, but Batty felt nothing but contentment, for she believed they had been truthful with each other, and so blissfully, Batty's work was done.


	22. Chapter 22

Jeffrey never stopped talking to her, not once the entire time they were alone. Skye adored him for that.

Unbeknownst to both of them, Jeffrey had been rambling about anything and everything for just under ten hours. There had been some obvious filibustering: at one point he had summarized the entire plot of _Game of Thrones_ , with incredible detail and much personal commentary. Presently, he was telling her about the day he and Jane had spent a full afternoon on FaceTime studying the _Hamilton_ soundtrack until they were both confident they could perform it in their sleep.

It didn't matter what he talked about, Skye would still love him even more for it. He couldn't keep her mind entirely off of being raped, but he helped more than he realized. More than he would ever give himself credit for, Skye was certain of that. Just like she was certain of how badly he was beating himself up. Even when he'd taken off her blindfold, she could feel the abhorrence he felt toward himself just for touching her. He didn't know how much being able to see his face had improved things for her. He never would have guessed that his breath in her hair, his lip brushing her ear had sent a warm shiver through her that for a single, euphoric moment had made her forget how much pain she was in.

She ached all over. She lay on her hip, careful not to put any unnecessary pressure on her sore backside as she rested against Jeffrey. She'd had to when she navigated over to him, and though she thought she had done a decent job concealing that particular pain from him, she wasn't keen on experiencing it again. She purposefully faced away from the streak of blood she had smeared into the carpet.

She snuggled her face closer to Jeffrey's neck and tried to telepathically communicate how much she appreciated him. Sometimes it was easier to focus on what he was saying, and sometimes, no matter how hard she tried, her attention was ripped away by thoughts of Dexter forcibly penetrating her. Each time that happened, she would tense and Jeffrey would rub circles on the top of her head with his chin. Eventually the tension would leave her, dragging more sobs out with it. Jeffrey's voice would grow thick and hoarse, and upon occasion, a little difficult to understand. He cried with her every time. She could feel him quake and swallow as he fought it enough to keep talking to her. Sometimes that calmed her; sometimes it made her cry harder.

Jeffrey's chest was glistening and slick with her tears, her snot and her spit. They turned pink as they mixed with his blood. She would have thought she'd be more embarrassed about that than she was. She couldn't stop any of them, and she wanted to be near him more than she cared about drenching him with a variety of facial secretions.

Jeffrey stopped his storytelling for the first time when the trailer door started to open. He lost his train of thought. Skye was shaking like it was ten degrees inside. This was the most frightened she had ever been. There wasn't a single part of her that wanted to fight. She only wanted to curl up and cry and wish that it was over.

"You two can't stay the fuck away from each other, can you?" said Dexter.

Every one of Jeffrey's muscles contracted underneath Skye. It startled her into sitting up. He crawled onto his knees and positioned himself in front of her. Skye shrank back against the wall. She wasn't even ashamed of it. She started to cry again. She didn't know which would be worse: Dexter going after her again, or Dexter turning on Jeffrey. She couldn't handle either one.

"It's kind of cute actually, the way she acts like she can protect you, and you pretend you can protect her," said Dexter. "If I wasn't planning to kill you, I might've even supported your relationship."

"There isn't one to support," said Jeffrey. "So you can stay away from her."

"I could," Dexter agreed. "I won't."

It was easy for him to push Jeffrey out of his way. Skye cowered back from him and tried not to let him drag her away, but she couldn't do much to resist him. Panicked, she stopped breathing. Skye didn't notice that until her sight turned fuzzy and she almost passed out. She gasped for breath and shuddered as another thick thread of saliva spilled over her lips.

Dexter surprised her by unbuckling the gag's straps and taking it from her mouth. She moved her jaw in a circle and winced as it popped. He pulled her mouth open, and Skye tugged away from him, expecting him to force himself on her again. Instead, he took a bottle from his pocket and poured water down her throat. She choked on it first before she was able to get it down. It would have been a relief if she didn't have to try so hard not to suck it into her lungs. She didn't know how long it had been since she'd had water, but it had to have been more than a day.

Dexter gave her the entirety of that bottle and half of a second. He sealed it and tossed it to the side. Looking to Jeffrey, he said, "I'd give you some, but sex is going to make me thirsty."

"Don't," said Jeffrey, back on his knees. He shuffled forward until he was at the edge of his radius. "Once was enough. You got what you wanted, you can stop."

"I'm sure that's true," said Dexter, pushing Skye to the ground anyway, this time so she was lying on her back. "But it turns out, I like fucking her. You're discounting that."

With her arms trapped underneath her, lying on her back was painful. Chains dug into her wrists and her arms; it felt like they were bruising her bones. She pulled her lip into her mouth so it would stop shaking. She tried not to let all her added pain and fright show.

"You like it more than hurting me?" Jeffrey challenged Dexter. "That's what really gets you off, isn't it? Go back to torturing me. I promise your mind games don't hurt the same way."

Dexter freed Skye's ankles and pinned her beneath him. She could already feel his erection throbbing against her leg. She turned her head so she wouldn't have to look at him. He scoffed at Jeffrey while he pried Skye's legs apart.

"I am torturing you," he told him. "You wouldn't be trying to talk me out of it if I wasn't."

 _"Please,"_ said Jeffrey. "I still have five nails, all my fingers."

Dexter ignored him. Skye didn't want Jeffrey to beg for her. It shattered both halves of her already severed heart.

"Jeffrey." She'd meant for it to come out stronger, but it was only a faint whisper.

Jeffrey's eyes flicked toward her, but he didn't stop. "I have a lot of things you can remove. So do it. Remove—"

_"Jeffrey."_

This time, Jeffrey's gaze locked with Skye's, flooded with tears. Skye shook her head. His mouth flapped open like he wanted to argue, then he shut it. Skye was still crying, and she doubted she would stop, but she wasn't sobbing – that she wouldn't allow anymore.

"You said you learned all—" Her voice dropped as Dexter shoved himself inside her. It felt like she had been ripped open. Her legs kicked out and flopped wildly, seemingly on their own accord. She couldn't control them. She grit her teeth against the cutting pain. "All of _Hamilton_ , right? With Jane?"

The beginnings of a sob slipped out after she had finished, but she clamped her mouth closed before it could fully emerge. Confounded, Jeffrey slowly nodded. His face contorted as he battled sobs of his own.

"P-prove it," said Skye, gasping as Dexter thrust into her particularly roughly. She needed something else to focus on. Dexter took one of her exposed breasts in his hand and squeezed it tight beneath his fingers.

A small, strangled sound escaped from the back of Jeffrey's throat as his breath stagnated. A collection of stammered syllables was all he was able to get out as horror took complete control of his brain. Dexter lowered his mouth to Skye's second breast. He bit down hard on the soft tissue and broke the skin, making her bleed.

"Jeffrey, please," said Skye. "Please."

Jeffrey nodded again and pulled his gaze away from her and directed it at the floor. Skye immediately wanted it back, but she would not ask him to watch. He did what she wanted. He stumbled through the opening few lines and had to repeat himself four times. After that, he got ahold of himself enough to continue on with minimal stuttering. In moments when Dexter got especially rough with her or when Skye's legs kicked hard against Dexter, Jeffrey would go quiet for a second or so while he struggled to remember which verse he was on. Skye had expected Dexter to stop him rather quickly, but he didn't. He didn't say a single thing.

It wasn't a fool proof defense mechanism, but it did help. She could focus on probably fifty percent of the songs; during the others, the feeling of Dexter pummeling her insides and touching every inch of her naked body was too much for her to pretend to ignore. She stayed silent with the exception of a few, rattled gulps for air. That seemed to make Dexter angry. He tried harder to get her to cry out, but she wouldn't. It took everything she had. She squeezed her eyes shut and swallowed back cries.

She focused on Jeffrey's voice. He wasn't naturally gifted the way Batty was, but he could control his voice, and that did wonders. Under any other circumstance, she would have been amused by him trying to rap for her, if not impressed by his overall success at it.

Dexter's breathing rapidly increased and yanked Skye's attention back. She tried to relax; she knew it would hurt less if she did, but no matter how much she commanded her muscles to unclench, they wouldn't obey. Every penetration felt like sandpiper grating against her and rubbing her raw. She would find blood pooling between her legs when it was over.

She listened intently to Jeffrey again. She tried repeating each lyric to herself one he had finished it to try to stay more engaged. It didn't improve much. She was finding it harder and harder to keep quiet. She was surprised by how painful it was for her to fight back her sobs. It felt like she would rupture her organs, but she was determined not to give in. If she could take one thing from Dexter, it would be the satisfaction of hearing her cry. If she could give Jeffrey one thing, it would be the relief of not having to. If she could give _herself_ one thing, it would be proving that she could be as strong as she had always acted like she was. Stronger, even.

When Dexter was finally done, Skye opened her eyes again. She let out a huge sigh that released some of the pressure built up in her chest, but not all of it because her temptation to cry had not yet vanished. She didn't notice Dexter had gotten to his feet until he was on top of Jeffrey. His fist collided with his jaw.

"That was annoying," he said. "Don't be fucking annoying."

Jeffrey hardly flinched. "Not a fan of musicals?"

His voice was laden with intense emotion, so his impertinent lip didn't come across as well as it had in the past, but still, it angered Dexter. Jeffrey's neck snapped back as Dexter kicked him in the face with a disgusted scoff. His head knocked hard against floor. When, dazed, he lifted himself up, Dexter hit him back down. The side of Jeffrey's face slammed hard into one of the hooks drilled into the floor. Skye sat up in a panic, ignoring her own pain. Jeffrey rolled onto his back, stunned. The metal had scraped a gash from the corner of his eyebrow to the bottom of his ear. Blood flooded from its opening and painted his cheek a scarlet red.

Jeffrey could have lost his eye. He could have been partially blinded and it would have been her fault. She was an idiot. A stupid, _stupid_ idiot. If she would have just used her fucking brain she never would have asked Jeffrey to do something that would obviously piss Dexter off.

Outwardly, Skye didn't panic as Dexter forced her onto her back, between hooks in the floor. He strapped ropes across her shoulders and her stomach, successfully strapping her down. Slowly, and with great effort, Jeffrey hauled himself up again, his face dripping blood. Dexter watched him silently and pulled a pack of Marlboros from his pocket. He fit a cigarette between his teeth.

"What are you doing?" Jeffrey demanded, alarmed.

"Lighting a cigarette," said Dexter. He flicked open a lighter. "What does it look like?"

"You don't smoke."

"You're right," said Dexter. "I don't."

Fear fluttered in Skye's stomach.

At the end of his chain, Jeffrey was no more than three feet away from her. "Do it to me," he said.

Dexter smiled and took the lit cigarette from his mouth without ever breathing from it. "Maybe after."

Skye's fear erupted into terror a mere second before Dexter pressed the burning end of the cigarette into her ribcage. It seared into her flesh; she could smell it burning. It crackled and collapsed under the cigarette. He lifted it and repositioned it onto a new patch of untouched skin, directly below the first burn. The pain nearly rendered her sightless. A scream built up inside her, and Skye didn't have the strength to hold it back – but when she opened her mouth to release it, she didn't scream. She didn't cry.

She started to laugh.

That shocked everybody, no one more than Skye. Jeffrey stopped vainly trying to reach her. The cigarette fell from Dexter's hand, requiring him to light a second one. She laughed even harder. She didn't stop when the cigarette was back on her skin, despite the ever-increasing, intense pain she felt. It made Dexter furious. He lit another cigarette and used two at once, determined to make her scream. Skye wanted to, but all she could do was laugh.

Dexter stamped out one of his cigarettes to free his right hand. He yanked Skye's legs open with great force, gripping the inside of her leg so tightly she could already feel a hand-shaped bruise starting to form. He didn't stop burning holes in her skin when he rammed two of his fingers up into her. She was already tender and raw, and his nails scraped against her, adding to her great discomfort. He added his third finger. His fourth.

Jeffrey had refused to do it, so Dexter went for it instead. He plunged his entire hand inside. Skye felt something tear. Her laughter broke into a scream, but then returned with a greater intensity. It was like Dexter was trying to rip her uterus out himself. Skye was still laughing, but the pain was excruciating. She would have preferred to scream. Then she would have at the very least felt sane.

Dexter didn't pull his hand out until his cigarette had burned away. He'd pressed it into her skin a minimum of two dozen times. She could still feel her flesh sizzling. When he tore out his hand, Skye had to confirm that he hadn't pulled an organ out with it. His hand was red with her blood, but it appeared that despite what it felt like, all of her organs were still intact. She laughed even harder, this time from relief as much of the pain stopped.

Dexter's face twitched with irritation. He tried to laugh himself, but he just looked defensive and angry. "Looks like I broke her," he said to Jeffrey.

Skye cackled uncontrollably. If she didn't stop soon, Dexter would probably kill her. Skye was well aware of that, but she couldn't calm her hysteria.

Fuming, Dexter left. It was like he flipped a switch in Skye's mind on the way out. Once he was gone, Skye's laughter split into sobs. She let herself fall to pieces. Jeffrey didn't try to talk to her while she cried. He was just as upset as she was.

When she finally did quiet down, she turned her head sideways to look at Jeffrey, her cheek resting against the carpet. "He didn't," she whispered. "Break me."

Jeffrey smiled at her, weakly, but enough to marginally lift her spirits. "I know," he said. "No one can."

Skye's heart swelled at the faith he had in her, but he was wrong. She had reached the extent of what she could take. If Dexter came for her even one more time, it would break her. Irrefutably. The thought was horrifying, but she had a second thought, almost equally as horrifying, that she chose to concentrate on instead. Each of the many cigarette burns on her skin throbbed and stung with lingering heat. They felt deliberately placed, almost like letters. She lifted her head to look, but she couldn't see past her chest. Asking about it devoured her remaining courage, but she did anyway. "He wrote something, didn't he?"

Jeffrey nodded, but he didn't have to reply for Skye to know that she was right. The look on his face was enough to confirm it.

"What does it say?" She had a feeling she knew.

After a long silence, Jeffrey answered, or rather, he tried to. His response was so thick and quiet, Skye couldn't make it out. He cleared his throat with a short cough. "It says Dex."

Indeed, she had known. He had branded her. She hardly knew how that made her feel, let alone what she should say. In the end, the only thing she said was, "Oh."

"I don't know how to stop him," said Jeffrey. "I'm sorry that I can't." His guilt flooded from him and filled the room from floor to ceiling, submerging them and suffocating Skye. "I'd do anything, die if that worked, but I don't know what—"

"Listen to me," said Skye. "I knew this would happen. This is not your fault. I thought it out, I made my own choice, and I would do it again."

"Don't do that," Jeffrey said gently. "Don't comfort me. I don't deserve it. I don't need it. I'm not the one being…abused."

But he was. Maybe not sexually, but that didn't mean anything. He was the living definition of abused. His face was swollen; blood still ran down his cheek – it was more of a trickle now, but it hadn't stopped. He had pulled his chains so tight around him trying to break free to help her that his arms were purple, bruised, and bloody.

"You're hurting yourself," Skye observed. "Promise me you'll stop."

Jeffrey looked down at the chains buried into his skin. He shook his head. "I can't."

Skye wanted to argue, but she couldn't. She hadn't been able to stop either. Once the desperation takes over, it wins every time. She opened her mouth to ask him to try anyway when she felt a concerning tickle travel up her scalp, then down the side of her face. Something was crawling on her. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see a bit of black, the sliver of antennae.

"Jeffrey," Skye said, an annoying quiver creeping into her tone. "What is on my face?"

Jeffrey nearly laughed. "Oh that's a cockroach."

Skye shrieked and jerked her head to knock it away, but strapped to the floor, her movement was severely limited. She felt it scurry from her chin to the base of her neck. It squeezed itself under her leather collar and rested at her clavicle. "Get it off, get it off, get it off!" An irrational amount of panic flared up inside her.

Jeffrey did laugh at her now, and he made no move to help her.

"I'm serious!" Skye all but shouted, only a little embarrassed by how agitated she was because of a bug.

Jeffrey's lips slowly split into a grin. He swung his legs around so he could stretch them out as far as his restraints allowed. His bound feet just barely reached her. He swiped at the roach but missed. It scuttled back up her neck a couple inches.

"JEFFREY GET IT OFF!" Skye screamed. She tried shaking it off herself again, but it was impossible. She was secured flat against the floor.

Jeffrey tried again, still unsuccessfully. He kicked Skye's chin. It caused her jaw to snap and her teeth to grind painfully against each other. That wiped the grin right off his face. "Shit, sorry! Are you okay?"

"FUCKING GET IT OFF OF ME!"

It took Jeffrey three more tries, but eventually he flicked it away. It scurried toward him and stopped, as if it were contemplating the best way to bring about his demise. Jeffrey stamped at it, but he couldn't quite reach. Frightened, the bug ran back at Skye. She shrieked again and fought the ropes binding her to the floor. She lost sight of the roach and her heart stopped.

"It's by your right foot," said Jeffrey. "Kill it."

Skye didn't want to kill it. She was barefoot. But, she was also naked and there were certain places she would not allow a cockroach to explore. Sacrifices had to be made. Blindly, she stomped her foot around in a circle until she felt herself catch it. It shot out from under her toes and she screamed.

It was back near Jeffrey again. He hit it with his foot and it sat stunned and slightly squashed before it started to crawl again. "Holy shit, die motherfucker," said Jeffrey, astounded.

He ground it into the carpet with his heel. It had to be dead. Skye sighed with relief. She felt like she had bugs crawling all over her body.

The roach popped up again.

"JEFFREY!" said Skye.

Jeffrey couldn't believe it. "What the—how the—WHY WON'T YOU DIE?" Determined, he stomped on it again and again until finally, without a doubt, it was dead. It ripped apart. Half of it was flattened into the carpet, the other half was plastered against the bottom of Jeffrey's foot. Disgusted, he scrubbed his foot against the floor until all remnants of their insect intruder peeled off his skin.

"Wow," he teased. "That was some quality squealing."

"Roaches are disgusting," Skye defended herself. "And I am naked. That was a one-time thing. No bug will ever scare me again. Okay? _Ever."_

"Sure, yeah," said Jeffrey. "You're never going to live that down."

Jeffrey held his smile for another second of so before it fell. The mood in the room dropped again. It was impossible to keep up anything even remotely lighthearted for more than a few minutes.

"I'm sorry about your face," said Skye. "I shouldn't have asked you to do that."

"It's okay," said Jeffrey. "I mean, it definitely ruined _Hamilton_ for me, but I'm fine."

"Sorry," Skye apologized. "I should have known it would make him mad."

"It's okay," Jeffrey repeated. _"I'm_ okay."

"It was selfish," said Skye.

"No," Jeffrey insisted with a fervent shake of his head. "Whatever it is you need, if I can give it to you, I will. Please ask. I don't know how you've been so brave."

"I'm not," said Skye. She didn't feel brave at all. She felt frightened and weak. Laughing at Dexter certainly hadn't been bravery. Mania, maybe, but that was it.

Jeffrey didn't agree. "You are brave," he said. "It's why Dexter's so pissed off. You're too strong for him, he can't win."

"It's not just me, you know," said Skye, feeling awkward. "He hates that he can't intimidate you."

Jeffrey sighed heavily. "Can't he? I'm terrified of him."

"He doesn't know that. It's not the same thing."

"Maybe it would be better if he did," said Jeffrey. "Then maybe he'd leave you alone."

"It would just be worse."

Jeffrey gave a dry, humorless laugh. "I don't know what worse would even look like."

Skye did. It looked like death, and not her own. "Let's hope we don't find out."

The silence was heavy. Jeffrey broke it by asking, "What do you think he does when he's not here?"

Skye frowned. She'd never given it any thought. Perhaps crudely, she replied, "You mean other than plan out more fucked up shit? He probably jerks off and fantasizes about your mother."

Jeffrey made a face. "Thanks for that. So much."

"Sorry, but he's obsessed with her. No way he doesn't."

Jeffrey didn't dispute it. "Better her than you, I guess."

Skye acknowledged that with a short, solemn nod. "Other than that, I think he sits around watching bad sitcoms and drinking beer until he passes out on the couch."

"He doesn't drink beer," Jeffrey pointed out. "He thinks he's too classy for it."

Skye thought about this for a moment. "Hmm, no," she said. "He drinks it now. A twelve pack in one sitting, probably Coors."

That picture made Jeffrey laugh a little. "Pathetic."

It was fun to joke about, and maybe Dexter had once been up to such things, but truth be told, Skye had a sinking feeling that whatever he was actually doing would mean nothing but bad things for the both of them. She was losing what little power she'd had to protect Jeffrey. She could feel it. Dexter was furious, and he was getting bored. Skye couldn't think of a more dangerous combination.


	23. Chapter 23

Jeffrey hadn't looked again, but that didn't matter. He could see the letters Dexter had burned into Skye's skin as clearly as if he was staring right at them. Dexter wanted him to; he kept taunting him about it.

"You can't touch her anymore. I won't allow it," he had said. "I put my name on her. She's mine."

Jeffrey was trying something new. He stayed stoic and nonresponsive no matter what Dexter did. For one spectacular moment, Jeffrey thought that he had the upper hand. Dexter was getting flustered, unsure of how to respond to two reactionless captives. Skye was doing the same thing. It wasn't that they had discussed it; she'd just picked up on it and followed suit. No communication necessary.

But there were a few things Jeffrey couldn't help but react to, and unfortunately, Dexter knew just what they were.

"Okay," he said. "I'm going to kill her."

"No, you're not," Jeffrey said automatically, before any panic had truly set in. "No."

Dexter bound Skye's ankles before he dragged her to her feet. He held her up against him, one hand clasped around her throat, the other re-exploring between her legs. Skye writhed under his grasp, but he had too good of a hold on her and she couldn't get away.

"Yeah, I've had enough of her. Do you want to say bye?" Dexter let go of Skye and shoved her in the back. She toppled forward into Jeffrey. He couldn't catch her, but he could break her fall. "Go ahead."

It had probably been foolish of him, but Jeffrey had started to think that Dexter didn't have it in him to kill either one of them. He'd thought that if Dexter was going to, he would have already. Jeffrey had been wrong. He realized that now. The look in Dexter's eyes could only mean murder. If he said he was going to kill her, he meant it. Skye was white and wild with fright. She didn't say anything, she just stared into Jeffrey's face with a terror that told him she believed Dexter too.

"He won't," said Jeffrey. "I won't let him. He won't. I promise." It was an idiotic thing to promise, he knew that. Skye didn't look like she trusted that promise. He hardly did himself.

"You don't want to kill her," he said. He tried not to sound as frantic as he felt. "You told the detective that, right? You were going to let her go then, just do it now."

"Did I say that?" said Dexter. "Hm. I guess I've grown since then."

Jeffrey wanted to be angry with his past self for missing Dexter's now obvious insanity, but it was impossible. The man was unhinged. It came out of nowhere.

Dexter yanked him back from Skye. Jeffrey was too focused on her; he barely saw Dexter's foot coming down before it landed heavily on his right leg, crushing his kneecap. He heard the sickening crunch before he felt it break. He thought he heard Skye scream, but he couldn't be sure. Everything was indistinct and distorted. The room was swimming before his eyes. His leg was bent at a concerning angle. He tried to move it, and a horrible cry came from his throat, despite the fact that he couldn't quite feel anything. His leg filled with the prickling pins and needles of numbness.

To Jeffrey's great surprise, Dexter unlocked his restraints. As he unwound the chains, they peeled away dried blood and reopened cuts and scrapes.

"Tell you what," said Dexter. "If you stop me, Jeffrey, I'll let you both go."

He kicked at Jeffrey's knee with his toe. It wasn't hard, but it was all it took to make Jeffrey finally feel the pain. It stabbed at him; it wasn't, but it felt like his bone was splitting through his skin. Outside it felt icy, but internally it was like the hollow of his bones had been filled with scalding, liquid metal.

He could ignore it. His hands were free. Dexter had taken hold of the leash around Skye's neck, but before he could take a step, Jeffrey locked his fingers around Dexter's leg. After only a bit of trouble, Dexter kicked out of Jeffrey's hands. He stomped on Jeffrey's ankle and it snapped. That was weirdly bearable, but it sent excruciating pain through his broken knee. His ankle was twisted in an opposite, strange direction. When the pain receptors in his foot finally caught up, Jeffrey was washed with an intense tidal wave of dizziness that flattened him against the floor.

"Come on, Jeffrey," Dexter goaded him. "Stop me. Save her."

He pulled Skye away. Skye tried to fight him, but she didn't have the strength for it. The collar around her neck strangled her cries.

"You can't do it, can you?" said Dexter. "I thought not."

Of all the things Dexter had done to him, this was what Jeffrey hated him for the most. Part of him didn't want to bother trying; he knew it was hopeless. He went for it anyway. His leg was like a fleshy paperweight dragging him down, but he managed to use his upper body to pitch himself forward enough to catch Skye's feet. He gripped the ropes tying her ankles with both hands. It did stop Dexter, but playing tug of war with her cut Skye's air supply off entirely.

Jeffrey let go. He collapsed onto his stomach. "Don't do this."

Dexter flipped Jeffrey onto his back with his foot. Jeffrey lay limp and just let it happen. He stared into Skye's eyes and desperately tried to find the right words to express how sorry he was, and that he really had tried. He never found them.

"I know," Skye whispered, understanding anyway. Her tears were falling fast. "I do."

Dexter pressed his knee into Jeffrey's chest to hold him down. One of Jeffrey's arms was trapped beneath his body, and his second hand was pinned under Dexter's foot. He hadn't moved his arms for hours, maybe days. He was too weak to pull them free. He was trapped. Again.

Dexter yanked Skye to her knees and held her over Jeffrey by her hair. "Don't do what?" He sneered. He procured a large knife from heavens knew where and held it under Skye's chin. "Don't slit her throat? She'd bleed out all over you, wouldn't she?" He slid the blade an inch down Skye's neck, pressing just hard enough to make a shallow cut.

"Please no. Don't kill her. Don't," Jeffrey begged.

It was as if he hadn't spoken at all. "That's too quick, isn't it? Boring." Dexter was talking to himself more than Jeffrey. He took the knife down and tossed Skye roughly to the side.

Both of Jeffrey's wrists still had metal shackles clamped around them. Dexter dragged Jeffrey's arms up. He wound the chain from each wrist around the other, binding his hands over his head. Soon he was again hoisted into the air – this time by his wrists. He dangled nearly a foot from the ground. The weight of gravity alone was enough to send a searing pain through his mangled kneecap. His wrists would probably be the next things to break. Being strung up like that was its own torture. Crime shows didn't depict that accurately enough. Jeffrey wondered how long it would be before his shoulders were pulled from their sockets.

"I could fuck her up a little outside," Dexter suggested. He tugged aggressively on Skye's leash, making her whimper. "Leave you to imagine what I could have done to her before she died."

Jeffrey shook his head. He mouthed "no" silently as his throat closed in a panic. He jerked against the chains he was hanging from, but he only swung pitifully in the air like a fish on a hook.

"Yeah," said Dexter. He watched Jeffrey with a satisfied nod. "That's the one."

"Why her? It doesn't have to be her," said Jeffrey. "Kill _me_."

Dexter smiled broadly. "Of course it has to be her," he said. He looked down at Skye. Her head and shoulders were lifted up by the leash, but the rest of her body still lay on the floor. She wheezed as the collar dug into her neck, nearly suffocating her.

"That's the deal, right?" Dexter said to her. "I have to kill you if I want to kill him? I'm sure you said it at least once."

Skye was so terrified she looked like a young child. Despite that, somewhere she found it in her to glare up at Dexter and through the pressure against her throat, resolutely tell him, "Yes."

He truly wasn't bluffing. Jeffrey felt all of his hope and his denial drain out of him like it was his very life source. In a lot of ways, it was.

"There you have it," said Dexter. "So here I am, killing her first."

"Don't listen to her," Jeffrey pleaded.

Dexter kept hauling her toward the exit.

"Dexter, don't!" Jeffrey's voice rose to shout and simultaneously cracked under the strain of his uncontrollable fear. Somehow being afraid for his own life hadn't ever been quite so terrifying.

"Dexter, stop. DEXTER!"

They were at the doorway. "Don't worry," said Dexter. "I'll rape her one more time, just for you."

"Jeffrey!" said Skye. She was shaking. She wasn't crying, she looked almost determined. She was trying to say goodbye, but she was unprepared to do it. "Jeffrey, I—"

He didn't want her to say it. He couldn't deny it if she did.

Skye faltered just a little, not enough for someone staring death in the face. "I'm sorry."

That stunned Jeffrey. Sorry for what? For fucking what?

It dawned on him that he maybe had three seconds to say something to her before he never could again. His mind was blank. There were endless possibilities, a billion things he still needed to tell her, and they all surged forward and crowded together in his mind until there wasn't a single distinguishable thought.

"Me too," was all he said, because nothing else was good enough. Nothing would satisfy the hungry void already swallowing him. The only other option he had was goodbye, but goodbye was the cruelest word of them all. He would not say it.

As he finally took Skye outside, Dexter paused to say, "Take a good look. It's the last you'll ever see of her."

Both of them disappeared around the corner. Jeffrey could only see halfway out the door at a couple trees and a sad, dewy patch of grass.

"Skye!" He shouted after them. "SKYE!" He screamed it. Each beat of his heart stabbed through his chest. He trembled, racked by chills as a heavy sweat poured out of him. His breaths were shallow and insufficient. His head spun with an aggressive dizziness.

There was a loud bang and the trailer shook. Jeffrey knew Dexter had thrown Skye against the trailer's metal side. He heard her cry out. There were sounds of a struggle. Dexter was beating her. Even with them around the corner and completely out of sight, he could still see Dexter on top of her. Skye let herself sob this time, her crying only interrupted when the pain was too great and she'd scream. Jeffrey thought it would last forever. If he was going to kill her, why didn't he just fucking do it?

Dexter was having his fun. He went for a full second round before Jeffrey could tell that the rape had stopped. The beatings had stopped. There was a gunshot.

Then there was silence.

* * *

There was a rather odd group assembled outside on the veranda. Tommy sat on the wicker sofa with Rosalind and Batty, while Mrs. Tifton and Churchie were seated in the chairs across from them drinking coffee, despite it being nearly midnight. Monday had come and gone, but no one was ready to admit it. Tommy knew that was exactly why Nick was running himself through hours of conditioning drills in the woods behind Arundel Cottage. Tommy had been tempted to join him, but upon further thought, he'd decided he was not in the right mindset to get his ass kicked by his older brother.

"Jeffrey should have told me," Mrs. Tifton was saying. "I didn't even know Cagney had rabbits."

Rosalind was telling her about Batty's runaway adventure during their summer at Arundel.

"Oh yes," said Churchie. "Little Batty was quite fond of them."

"She thought she killed one of them and ran off," said Rosalind. "We probably never would have found her if Jeffrey hadn't suggested we use our dog to track her."

Batty looked embarrassed.

"Do you remember that, Batty?" Rosalind asked her.

"A little," she said. "I remember Jeffrey carrying me home. He was my hero."

Mrs. Tifton looked somewhat touched by that.

"Batty had a little crush on him," explained Rosalind. "She wanted to marry him. It was sweet."

"Sort of like your crush on Cagney, huh?" Tommy nudged her.

"I never wanted to marry him!" Now Rosalind was the one looking embarrassed. "But yeah, I did… _like_ him." She looked sheepishly at Churchie. "He didn't know, did he?"

"He did. You weren't fooling anyone," said Church with a laugh. "But he thought it was cute."

Rosalind cringed and jokingly hid her face behind Tommy's shoulder.

"Cagney was a good kid," said Mrs. Tifton. "He was good for Jeffrey."

"Yes," Churchie agreed. "A bit like an older brother, I'd say."

Mrs. Tifton looked reluctant to bring down the mood. "Have you heard from him?"

"Yes dear," said Churchie. "He called me on Saturday."

"Good," said Mrs. Tifton weakly. "Tha-that's good."

Tommy shifted to put an arm around both Rosalind and Batty. Rosalind didn't move, but Batty leaned gratefully into him. She shivered, so Tommy rubbed his hand over her arm to warm her.

"He's a dad now," said Churchie. She refused to let any silence descend upon the group. "He and his wife had a little boy, what, a year and a half ago?"

She looked to Mrs. Tifton for confirmation, who shrugged. "He wouldn't tell me."

Churchie laughed. "No, I suppose not." She took her phone from her purse, which was sitting on the floor next to her foot. After scrolling through it a minute or two, she passed it off to Mrs. Tifton.

"There he is," said Churchie. "His name is Jack."

Tommy could see that Mrs. Tifton found the picture difficult to look at. Disinterest was not the reason she only gave it a passing glance before she stretched Churchie's phone across the coffee table to Rosalind.

"His son is lucky," she said in an effort to sound less broken than she so obviously was. "He'll be a wonderful father."

Rosalind gave a happy little gasp when she saw Cagney's baby. "Oh he's precious!"

Tommy peaked over her shoulder. The kid was cute. He was wearing a little green t-shirt with "Not now, I'm watching the Celtics with Daddy" across the front. Tommy wasn't a huge basketball fan, but he would put his kids in a New England jersey first chance that he got.

The sliding glass door opened and Jane joined them on the veranda, finally finished with a heavy conversation with her father. Tommy didn't know what it was about, but they had spent several hours after dinner resolving some sort of issue between them. Rosalind had not been inclined to give him any more details than that.

"Hello hello," said Jane. "What thrilling and distracting topic have you marvelous people come up with this evening?"

She was in a decent mood, all things considered. Her talk with Mr. Penderwick must have gone well.

"We're discussing Cagney," said Churchie.

"Oh! That is thrilling," said Jane. She took a seat on the arm of the sofa, next to Rosalind. "What a guy. Savior of rose bushes, master escape coordinator, Rosalind's one true love."

 _"No!"_ Rosalind protested.

Tommy flicked Jane with his hand. "What was I, then? A six year rebound?"

Jane flicked him back. "You, kind sir, are awkward territory."

Touché. He was that. He'd dodged Rosalind when he could over the past couple of days. He was there when she need someone, but that was it. He was only with her now to avoid Nick. When he wasn't worrying about Skye and Jeffrey, he was worrying about himself and Rosalind. He hadn't forgotten what she'd drunkenly said to him, no matter how much he'd tried to. She wasn't making it any easier. She regularly cast fretful glances at him, making him wonder if some of her missing memories had resurfaced and she hadn't told him.

"Master escape coordinator?" Mrs. Tifton repeated. "Let's go back to that part, shall we?"

"Skye and I got stuck climbing down that big tree outside Jeffrey's window," Jane explained. "Cagney saved us and put up a secret rope ladder so we could sneak in and out of Jeffrey's room without you knowing."

"Did he? That's certainly not what I paid him for," Mrs. Tifton huffed, though she didn't actually seem too put out about it. "My own staff, working against me. I shouldn't be surprised."

"Not against you," Churchie corrected. "Just _for_ Jeffrey."

"Is that what you were doing when you decided not to tell me my ex-husband was coming to see me for the first time in twelve years?" said Mrs. Tifton. "Don't think I don't know you got a phone call in advance."

"It was for the best," said Churchie. "You never would have spoken to him if you knew."

"I suppose that's true," Mrs. Tifton agreed. "And speaking of Alec, there's something wrong with him. Something different. He won't tell me what it is, but I'm sure someone here knows."

There was a chorus of suspicious negation from every Penderwick.

"Is it about Jeffrey?"

The no's were even less convincing.

Mrs. Tifton pursed her lips and leaned back against her chair. "Really. Not one of you can tell a decent lie."

Before anyone had the chance to form their rebuttal, Nick jogged up to the veranda. He leaned heavily on a white pillar as he caught his breath.

"Tommy, can I snag you a second?" He asked. "I need a second guy."

"Was my invitation lost in the mail?" said Jane, pretending to be offended.

"You want to run rough terrain drills?"

"Oh no. Definitely not," said Jane, making a face.

"Neither do I," Tommy pointed out.

"Too bad," said Nick. "Don't be a bitch."

"Do you see what I put up with?" Tommy asked the group. He got to his feet anyway. Jane took his spot on the sofa almost before he had completely left it.

"Well, I'm off to die," Tommy said. "Goodnight everybody."

They returned the sentiment, some with looks of pity. The Penderwicks all knew how rough Nick's conditioning could actually get. Nick was already running ahead of him. Tommy sprinted to catch up. He grabbed Nick's shoulder to slow him down.

"You know I'm really not prepared for this," said Tommy. "I'm wearing jeans."

"You're fine," said Nick. He cut across the gardens to the driveway – not at all an appropriate location for rough terrain drills. He tossed Tommy his keys. "We're not working out. We're going for a drive."

Tommy caught the keys with one hand. His heart beat faster with the onset of nervous confusion. "M'kay. Where to?"

"West Virginia." Nick gave Tommy his phone.

Tommy stopped in his tracks. _"West Virginia?_ That's a six hour drive, at least."

"Eight, actually," said Nick. "Just take a look at that." He pointed at his phone in Tommy's hand.

Nick's Instagram was open. He'd pulled up his DMs. Tommy felt the color leave his face. A strange account had messaged Nick one of his own photos. It was from a while back – the one announcing his promotion to a lieutenant. Beneath that was a message.

_"ARMY Lieutenant Nick Geiger. Congrats on a game well played. Here's your prize:_

_195 Old Cheat Rd_

_Morgantown, WV 26508_

_Unit 127, Combination: 00-14-32_

_NO police."_

Tommy gave Nick his phone back like it was a bomb. He jumped into the driver's seat of Nick's truck, which was exactly where Skye had left it on Friday night. Nick climbed into the passenger seat and plugged in the directions.

"It's a storage unit. The address," he said unnecessarily. Tommy had worked that much out.

"You don't think…" A storage unit could be an excellent place to put a body. Particularly one you wanted someone to easily find.

"I don't know," said Nick. He knew what Tommy meant before he finished. "But it better fucking not be."


	24. Chapter 24

Jeffrey wouldn’t believe it. He couldn’t. No. No way. If Dexter was going to kill Skye, he would have shot her in front of him. He would have made him watch. So he didn’t do it. Absolutely fucking not. Dexter was playing him. He had to be. That’s what Jeffrey had been telling himself for the past…well he didn’t know how long it had been.

The strain of his body weighing down on his wrists was getting increasingly worse. There was blood dripping from where the shackles had split into his skin. His arms ached, his shoulders burned. His broken leg hung heavy; it felt like someone was tugging on it, trying to rip it from him and drag it through the floor. Even the slightest movement – a gentle swing resulting from him merely moving his head – would send a new tidelike torture spreading from the shattered bones in his knee, up to his hip and down through his equally broken ankle.

Between all that, it was the stabbing uncertainty about Skye that tormented him the most. He could tell himself that Dexter hadn’t killed her a hundred thousand times over (he probably had already), but that wouldn’t change the fact that she wasn’t with him anymore. Skye was gone, and when Dexter finally did return, he came alone.

Jeffrey wasted no time. “What did you do?” he demanded. Somehow the quiver in his voice made him sound more threatening than frightened. Jeffrey wasn’t quite sure how that happened. He was terrified of the answer – that was it. “Where is she?”

“She’s dead.” He said it like he was bored of the topic already. “Quite.”

Jeffrey had known that Dexter would say that, but that didn’t stop his blood from freezing, his stomach from flipping and tearing at his insides, or dizziness from nearly knocking him out entirely. “No. No,” he whispered. “She’s not. No.”

“You don’t believe me?” said Dexter, unsurprised. “I thought you might not. I can paint a picture for you if you’d like.”

“No.”

“I shot her in the face. Her blood is still on the wall outside.”

“Stop,” Jeffrey croaked.

“You wouldn’t even recognize her. It’s a bit of a shame, really. She _was_ very pretty.”

“You’re lying,” said Jeffrey unconvincingly.

“What, you don’t think she was pretty?” Dexter said. He so obviously found himself incredibly entertaining. “I didn’t even bury her. I found a ravine I tossed her in and that was it. If the animals haven’t found her yet, they will by the morning.”

Dexter wrapped his hand around Jeffrey’s face to force him to look at him. “I know it’s not proof, but trust me.” He gave Jeffrey’s cheek a condescending smack, like he was swatting a fly with his palm. “She’s dead.”

After all his efforts to convince himself otherwise, Jeffrey believed him. Dexter had gone through Skye to get to him, just as Jeffrey had known from the beginning he would do if he had to. Jeffrey finally understood that killing Skye in front of him would have been less cruel. It had been morning when Dexter had taken her; it was dark out now. He’d left Jeffrey for a full day, alone to hope and to come up with every possible reason why Skye couldn’t be dead, only to rip it all away once Jeffrey had all but convinced himself.

Instead of the hellish grief he had expected, Jeffrey only felt angry – a deep, uncaged fury that devoured everything else he’d been feeling, even all of his own physical pain. There was nothing to hold it back, he had nothing to lose. His life, sure, but he didn’t want it. He’d lose it in the end anyway, he would happily part with it early.

His left leg remained unbroken and fully functioning. He kicked out and slammed his foot into Dexter’s stomach. He hadn’t been expecting that, so he wasn’t at all braced for it. He tripped and fell on his back, too shocked to even look angry.

“I won’t be the one to kill you, I know that,” said Jeffrey venomously. “But someone will come for you. You’ll pay for that. You’re just as dead as I am.”

Dexter winced a little as he stood back up. Jeffrey took great pleasure in that. Hurting Dexter, even just a little, was probably the only thing with the power to please him at all anymore.

“I don’t doubt that,” said Dexter. “But this makes it worth it.”

He took Jeffrey’s broken leg in both of his hands. He braced one just above his knee, and the other gripped the back of his calf. He wrenched his hands in opposite directions. Several addition bones in Jeffrey’s knee splintered as his leg hyperextended. The pain was so severe he didn’t even have the energy to scream.

Dexter wasn’t done there. He twisted Jeffrey’s leg up behind him. That hurt almost worse than when he’d broken it, like his bones were being ground into dust by hot coals. When Dexter dropped his leg, the force of it rocked Jeffrey’s entire body, making him swing like a pendulum. It doubled the stress on his wrists. Dexter bound Jeffrey’s legs together so he would be incapable of kicking him again. He couldn’t move his broken leg at all, it was like lead. Dexter tied ropes around his ankles and his knees. The pressure against his broken bones exacerbated the pain and kept it at a constant, excruciating level.

“You’re the one that killed her, Jeffrey,” said Dexter. “I pulled the trigger, but she is dead because of you.”

Jeffrey hurt too much to try to come up with a response to that. He wasn’t even inclined to disagree.

“Nothing to say for yourself?”

Jeffrey ground his teeth together and stayed silent.

Dexter was unimpressed. “What about to me? Do you have anything to say to me? About why you’re here, perhaps?”

That made Jeffrey laugh. It was bitter and sardonic. If Dexter was waiting for Jeffrey to apologize, he’d be there a long, long time. It was stupid of Dexter to rid himself of his only leverage before he got what he truly wanted. Jeffrey would have said he was sorry for anything to save Skye, but now, he would first go to his grave.

“Read my lips, Dexter,” he said, enunciating very clearly, with each word punctuated as its own sentence. “Not. A. Damn. Thing.”

Dexter laughed a bitter laugh of his own. “You’re difficult, just like your mother.”

“Thank you.”

Now Dexter was laughing out of amusement. “You’ll break eventually.”

He took out the same knife he had pulled on Skye. It still had drops of her blood dried along the edge. He poked the tip into the skin under Jeffrey’s collarbone. “Anything to say now?”

Jeffrey flinched as the blade punctured through the top few layers of his skin, but he held Dexter’s gaze without blinking. “No.”

Dexter flicked his wrist and the knife sliced a six inch line into Jeffrey’s chest. True to his promise, Jeffrey did not say a damn thing. Not that time, nor the five consecutive times that followed. He could sense Dexter’s mounting impatience.

“I want you to apologize,” said Dexter, as if Jeffrey didn’t know that already.

Jeffrey remained silent except for a few stubborn, hissing breaths that combated the slicing pain. Nothing was deep enough to cause any damage, but it still fucking hurt. Jeffrey hardly knew what Dexter wanted him to apologize for anymore. His attitude? The divorce? Forgetting his birthday? None of those options seemed like a possible real reason. Maybe he just wanted him to apologize for being born, that would probably cover everything. It didn’t matter of course; he wouldn’t do it no matter what the reason was, but damn, did it make Dexter seem twice as fucking crazy.

“I’m not sorry for anything,” he said. “Getting you out of Mother’s life was the best thing I ever did, for me and for her.”

Jeffrey had never paused to think about it before, but he really couldn’t understand the insane amount of effort Dexter was putting in to avenge his marriage. Jeffrey loved his mother, he did, but she wasn’t _that_ great.

This time, when Dexter pressed his knife into Jeffrey, he didn’t lift it until he had carved a looping, overlapping pattern from the base of his shoulder to his hip. That one drew a complete cry from Jeffrey, but he cut it off before it made Dexter too happy.

“Actually no, I am sorry about one thing,” said Jeffrey. “I’m sorry it took me almost ten fucking years to get rid of you.”

Dexter threw the knife away. Instead, he used Jeffrey’s body as a punching bag, deliberately beating where he had cut at him. As Jeffrey rocked on the hook with every blow, his wrists grew all the more fed up with bearing his weight. Jeffrey thought his shackles might saw through his wrist bones and fully cut his hands away. If they did, his arms and his shoulders would at least get some relief. Something popped in one of his wrists. It could have been another breaking bone, he could hardly tell. There was only so much pain he could distinguish at one time.

When Dexter tired himself out, he wiped Jeffrey’s blood off his hands with the hem of his shirt. “After I kill you, I’m going to send Brenda your head in a box.”

The threat really didn’t faze him. Death had stopped frightening him. He was no authority on the likelihood that what he was about to say would turn out to be even remotely true, but he knew how it would enrage Dexter. The joy that would bring Jeffrey was too tempting to pass up, resulting consequences be damned. His head would end up in a box either way.

“Well, when that happens, it’s a good thing my father will be around to make her feel better.”

The look on Dexter’s face truly was glorious. Jeffrey didn’t regret saying it one bit, not even when Dexter wound up his leg like a professional soccer player and drilled his foot into his broken knee. The pain was so great Jeffrey almost threw up, but still he was tempted to say something else about Alec.

He never got the chance. Dexter hit him so squarely across the jaw that he knocked one of Jeffrey’s back teeth loose. His mouth filled quickly with blood. He coughed on it and it ran out of his mouth, coating his chin and his neck.

With a wicked grin, Dexter hit Jeffrey again, this time across the eye. Blinded by the impact, Jeffrey blinked to coax back his sense of sight. Dexter knocked his elbow into Jeffrey’s teeth. His lip split. Before he could recover from that, Dexter’s fist found his nose. It didn’t break, Jeffrey was fairly certain of that, but blood poured out of it. By the time Dexter was finished beating him, Jeffrey couldn’t hold his head up anymore. The blood streaming from his nose and mouth dribbled from his face and pooled into a crimson puddle beneath his feet.

Dexter snickered, satisfied with himself. He grabbed a fistful of Jeffrey’s hair and pulled his head back. He smirked as he admired the damage he had done to Jeffrey’s face.

“Not so flippant now, are you?”

Jeffrey tried to keep his head up when Dexter dropped it, but he shouldn’t have even bothered. He couldn’t so much as slow its fall. Silence followed, and Jeffrey started to think that his mind was foggy enough that he’d missed Dexter leaving.

He hadn’t. A heavy stream of hot liquid hit his ribs. Jeffrey didn’t have to look to know what it was. He could just faintly smell it through the scent of his own blood. His face flushed with the heat of humiliation. He had been through a lot, but this was an entirely different level of degrading.

One final time, Dexter lifted Jeffrey’s head to look at him. Jeffrey’s vision was so bleary he hardly knew what was happening.

“Tell me: what would Skye think if she could see you now?”

Dexter waited a minute to see if Jeffrey would answer, but he didn’t so much as glare at him. He was exhausted and demeaned beyond belief, nothing Dexter could say would get a rise out of him.

“You’re weak,” said Dexter.

And then, because why the hell wouldn’t he, he spit on him before he let Jeffrey’s head drop. Once Dexter had left, Jeffrey’s shame and mortification seemed a lot less important. The grief that he hadn’t felt earlier hit him like freight train. A fountain of blood sprayed from his mouth as he started to sob. His body shook, which made everything hurt worse, but he didn’t care – not even a little. Skye was dead. Nothing could ever hurt him the way that did.

* * *

“You turn left in a quarter mile,” said Tommy. He had switched with Nick halfway through the drive, now he was the passenger. Both of them were getting agitated. They were getting close.

“I can see the GPS,” said Nick.

“You’re in the wrong lane,” said Tommy, after giving Nick a few minutes to get over. “You’re going to miss your turn.”

“Do you want to drive?” Nick demanded, irritated. “I can pull over.”

“No that’s stupid. We’re practically there,” said Tommy as Nick drove right through the indicated intersection. “Oh look at that, you missed the turn. Like I said.”

“Fuck,” Nick grumbled. “I wouldn’t have if you weren’t bitching at me.”

“Yeah yeah.” Tommy waved him off. “Just turn around.”

“What do you think I’m trying to do?” Nick whipped around in the middle of the road and cut off an oncoming car. It honked obnoxiously. Tommy could see the driver flipping them off in the rearview mirror.

“Kill us, apparently.”

Nick glowered at him and turned up the radio to drown out any future attempts at conversation. He sped down the next road at least twenty miles over the speed limit. He didn’t slow for speed bumps. Tommy just managed to brace himself before his head knocked into the window. They pulled into the storage facility a full fifteen minutes earlier than the GPS had predicted.

“What was the combo he gave?” Nick asked as he stopped in front of the gate. He rolled down his window to type in the code.

Tommy double-checked himself before he said, “00-14-32. But Nick, I don’t think that’s for the gate.”

“I’m still going to try it.”

When the gate didn’t open, Nick smacked his open palm against the steering wheel and fell back into his seat.

“They open in 20 minutes,” said Tommy. He wanted to calm his brother, but he didn’t have much to say that would. They hadn’t driven all night long to be stopped by a fucking gate, even if it was for only a little while.

“No, I’m not waiting,” said Nick. His tires spun out as he backed his truck up quickly and pulled into a parking spot. “I’m going to hop the gate.”

Tommy needed no convincing. Both of them cleared the gate like it was nothing, though Tommy did stumble half a step when he landed on the opposite side. Unit 127 was easy enough to find, and this time the provided combination worked. Nick hauled up the metal door. He was sickly white.

The storage unit was empty except for a single, green wooden cabinet. It lay on its back with its doors facing up toward the ceiling. Tommy and Nick exchanged apprehensive glances. The cabinet was big enough to contain a body – barely, but it could. Especially if it was Skye’s; she was a good six inches shorter than Jeffrey. Tommy had a good feeling if they were about to find a body, it would be Skye’s anyway. Nick wouldn’t have been the person Dexter contacted if it wasn’t.

The cabinet doors were locked, but it wasn’t a problem. The cabinet was cheap. Nick ripped the doors open. He took what barely constituted as a single look inside before he jumped back to pace in a livid circle. His hands were coiled into tight fists. He was so irate that for a brief, irrational second, when Tommy made eye contact with him, he thought Nick might hit him. Nick couldn’t form words, his face was so twisted with fury it twitched. He just pointed to the cabinet to tell Tommy to look himself. He laced his hands behind his head, breathing heavily like he was recovering from a marathon. He looked ready to spit fire.

Tommy’s heart leaped into his throat as he peered into the cabinet. _Holy fucking shit._ Tommy needed to hit something. Hell, if Nick did want to punch him, he’d let him. He’d get it.

Skye _was_ in the cabinet. She’d been stuffed inside in an awkward Z shape. She was stripped completely naked, beaten, and wrapped excessively in chains. She was gagged. She was blindfolded.

Most importantly, she was breathing.


	25. Chapter 25

Skye’s first thought when she regained consciousness was that Dexter must have buried her alive. The air was thick and stuffy, and she could feel four walls boxing her in. She couldn’t move. She knew she was chained up, but she couldn’t be sure how. The box was incredibly cramped; she ached from the tight fit. She was drained of all energy. Her mind was too tired to form more than a few sporadic thoughts, and none were very concrete.

She tensed. She might have heard a voice, but it could have easily been nothing. She didn’t trust her senses anymore. Then the top was ripped off the box and light rushed in. That was not nothing. That had definitely happened. Dread filled her like a transfusion of icy water. She’d thought that Dexter was done with her, that she would either suffocate or starve in her box. She’d been ready for that. This she wasn’t ready for. She couldn’t get raped again. She couldn’t.

A hand brushed over her face. She jerked violently away from it and whimpered, terrified. She seized up in a panic and coiled herself into an even tighter ball.

“Skye.”

The voice wasn’t Dexter’s. It sounded like –

“Skye, it’s Tommy.”

Wonderful. She was delirious. She was so close to death her brain was playing cruel tricks on her. Two strong arms curled underneath her and scooped her out of the box. They laid her on the floor as if she were the most delicate thing in the world. Everything was so muddled. She didn’t know what was going on. It freaked her out.

“It’s Tommy,” the voice repeated.

The hand cautiously peeled the blindfold from her face. Skye opened her eyes, but for a startling moment, she still couldn’t see anything. The daylight blinded her; she only saw white. Then shapes and colors faded back into existence. It was Tommy, just like he’d told her. He was kneeling in front of her with his hand hovering next to her face.

“Mmph.” Skye didn’t even know what she had tried to say. Her eyes were wide. Her head swiveled every which way as she looked wildly around in shock. She wasn’t in the woods anymore. She was in a storage unit – in civilization. She could hear cars on the road outside. Nick stood a few feet back from Tommy, flushed with anger. His eyes were bloodshot and watering. Skye had never seen him cry before. “Mmph!”

“Hey,” said Tommy gently. He brushed his thumb across her cheek. “Let me help you.”

Skye stilled.

“It’s over,” he said. “You’re okay. Skye, it’s done.” He pulled down the strip of cloth and took the stuffing from her mouth.

That was the final act necessary for her to finally comprehend what was happening. “Tommy?” she whispered as she was deluged with a relief so intense she all but passed out.

Tommy nodded. “You’re safe. It’s really over,” he promised her. He started to cry. “Can I hug you?”

“Yes,” said Skye, finding that she’d never wanted a hug more. “Yes, please do.”

She couldn’t hug him back, but she sagged into him. She didn’t cry herself. She was too overcome with astonishment to experience that much emotion.

“Nick what do we do?” asked Tommy. “How do we get her free?”

“There’s a bolt cutter in my truck.”

“You’re serious?” said Tommy incredulously. “A bolt cutter?”

“You can never be too prepared, just unprepared.”

He would never cease to amaze her. “Nick, I love you,” said Skye.

Her happiness died with that single phrase. She said it to Nick with such ease, but she hadn’t told Jeffrey. She had been _so_ close. She’d intended on telling him, when Dexter was dragging her away. She’d even started to say it, but something had made her change her mind. She’d said _I’m sorry_ instead. Why? In what fucking world was that a quality alternative? But she was sorry; she was sorry for being too much of a pussy to tell him that she loved him. And for leaving him, as she had promised she wouldn’t. She was sorry for that too. In the face of literal death, with one last chance to say the most important thing to him she ever could, she had betrayed herself. Now he might never know.

Maybe it would have been cruel to tell him. Maybe it would have only made things harder for him. But the more Skye thought about it, the less she bought that excuse. She’d left Jeffrey to die believing that she didn’t think he was enough for her. That was worse, because he was enough. He was all she’d ever needed and all she would need for the rest of her life.

With Jeffrey, Skye wanted every romantic thing she had every made fun of. She wanted to kiss him under the stars, in the back of a movie theater, in front of a crowd of people they would make uncomfortable. She wanted to have candlelit dinners and to plaster so many couple photos on her social media pages her followers got sick of seeing them. She wanted to put his names in her bio and put hearts next to his contact in her phone. She wanted him to call her his girlfriend and play her piano pieces he wrote about her. None of that disgusted her; she would do every bit of it to have him alive and safe with her. She would do it without complaint. She would be happy to, so long as she could hear him say her name again, see him smile. Walk. Skye had felt the life leave her at the sound of Jeffrey’s leg snapping. She almost wished that Dexter _had_ killed her. Then she wouldn’t be alive to remember that.

Tommy didn’t stop hugging her until Nick was back. Even then, he only shifted so that he was sitting next to her on the floor. He kept an arm wrapped around her shoulders while Nick cut away the bindings around her ankles first – that was rope, he only needed a pocketknife. After that, he seemed at a loss about where to start. Skye was covered in chains. Dexter had secured them around her knees, her thighs, her elbows and her wrists. Her chest and her waist were both wrapped in an addition heavy chain.

Nick dragged a hand over his face, overwhelmed. He exhaled heavily and picked up his bolt cutter. “Okay,” he muttered to himself. “Okay I got this. It’s gonna work.”

Skye stared at the tool. It took a minute for her to figure out why it had spiked her anxiety. It looked a little too much like the garden shears Dexter had almost cut Jeffrey’s fingers off with.

Nick noticed her nerves. He paused with the bolt cutter open over the lock securing the chain around her knees. “Are you okay?”

“Uh, yeah,” said Skye unconvincingly. “Just, um, don’t worry about it.” She tried to focus on the lock between the blades of the bolt cutter, rather than Jeffrey’s finger between the blades of the garden shears.

Nick definitely looked like he was worrying about it, but he left it alone. He freed her knees and then moved on to the chain around her thighs. Once the lock was broken, he started to unwrap it, and his hand slipped. It brushed against the inside of her leg and an involuntary shudder rippled through her. Nick snatched back his arm.

“I’m sorry,” he said gruffly. He cleared his throat. “I should have been more careful.”

Skye was filled with an unexpected warmth. “It’s okay. Really.”

Nick dragged the chains down to a safer place, then unwound them entirely and finished freeing her legs. Skye spread them out to remind herself what moving them felt like. Nick looked sharply away. Skye closed her legs again. Blood flowed to her feet painstakingly slowly.

“It is okay but,” Skye reiterated. “Can you say that again?” She hoped it wasn’t too strange of a request.

Nick made unwavering eye contact with her. She could see on his face that he knew why she wanted that. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m sorry for touching you.”

He hadn’t even. His hand had just been close. Skye’s face crumpled with gratitude. Skye cried. Before she knew it, she was wailing. Hearing him say that was like putting ice on a burn. It soothed her to be back in the presence of a man that valued her, who would never touch her or use her – a man who would never want to at all. It cleansed her. Not completely, but it helped her stop feeling like she was trash.

Nick pulled her into a hug while she cried and cried. He kept apologizing to her; he probably said it eight more times, but Skye knew it wasn’t for anything that he did anymore.

“Fucking son of a bitch,” Nick mumbled. “I’m going to kill that fucking piece of shit myself. He’s a dead man. He’s fucking dead.”

That calmed Skye down enough to allow Nick to continue to release her. When her arms were finally free, they fell dead at her sides. She tried to cover herself before Nick could see Dexter’s name in her ribs, but her arms didn’t do as they were told.

He saw it. He flushed angrily and his nostrils flared. “Bastard,” he said. “Fucking bastard.”

Tommy pulled his shirt off and held it out to her, but Skye couldn’t lift her hand to take it from him. Tommy put a hand gently on her arm.

“I got it,” he whispered. He threaded her arms through his t-shirt for her. Skye hadn’t been covered in so long she had forgotten how good privacy felt. Actually, it was better than she remembered. She hadn’t appreciated it before.

Nick helped Skye stand. Without even taking a step, she stumbled. Her legs wouldn’t work. She was so weak and hungry that her head spun. Her vision went black as she almost fainted. Nick caught her and scooped her into his arms.

“Tommy, find a hospital,” he said. He looked down at Skye. “We’re going to get you help.”

“No!” said Skye, shocking both Geigers. She felt Nick jump. “We have to find Jeffrey.”

“Skye,” Tommy said quietly. “Jeffrey isn’t here.”

“You don’t know that. You have to look!” But she knew as she said it that Tommy was right. Dexter would never let Jeffrey go. That took all of the happiness out of her. Jeffrey was alone and whatever Dexter did to him would only keep getting worse. Skye thought back to telling Jeffrey that if he was missing and she was home safe, not knowing what sort of hell he was being put through, it would probably kill her. She’d been right. She could feel that very ignorance tearing through her like a double edged sword.

“He’ll die!” she said as a rush of tears overtook her like a flash flood. “He can’t take it. He’s torturing him, he’ll kill him.”

Skye was hyperventilating. She wheezed violently, her chest heaving. He could be dead already. She thought of every tool and weapon Dexter had at his disposal and of Jeffrey, already so broken, suspended defenselessly by his wrists. The hair-raising crack of his knee breaking rang loudly in her ears. She truly couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t see. Nick was speaking to her, but it sounded muffled, like she was underwater. She shook so violently with shivers that Nick had to tighten his grip on her so she wouldn’t roll right out of his arms. Her chest hurt, her head hurt. Everything hurt. Everything was wrong.

A gate opened. A woman asked if Skye was alright. Nick and Tommy both ignored her. Nick set Skye in the front seat of his truck. He started the engine and turned on the air conditioning. The cold felt wonderful against Skye’s face.

“Skye, focus on me,” said Nick calmly. “I need you to breathe. Take a deep breath with me, okay? One, two, three.”

Skye did it, but it was more of a gasp than a real breath. Nick talked her through it a dozen more times.. He soothingly rubbed his hand over her shoulder.

“You’re safe,” said Nick. “They’ll find Jeffrey. Say that to me. Jeffrey will be fine. They’ll find him.”

Skye sucked in several more sharp, ragged breaths. “They’ll find him,” she said, panting. “They’ll find Jeffrey. They’ll find him.”

“Just breathe,” said Nick. “Tommy is going to take you to the hospital. I’ll look around for Jeffrey, I promise. I’m going to talk to the police, and then I’ll meet you there. Sound good?”

Skye nodded. When Nick shut the truck’s door, she leaned her head against the window. She couldn’t stop sobbing. Gradually she was regaining feeling in her arms, but that didn’t cheer her any. Tommy let her cry, and Skye was grateful for that. Once he had pulled onto the road, he held her hand until she finally quieted down. It took her over ten minutes.

“When is the last time you ate?” Tommy asked her. There was a McDonald’s approaching on the right-hand side.

Skye didn’t know. “What day is it?”

“It’s Tuesday.”

“He fed us once. I don’t know when it was.” Once. She’d only eaten one time since Friday night, and it hadn’t been enough to qualify as an actual meal.

“Jesus Christ,” Tommy said under his breath. He stopped at the McDonald’s. He ordered her two breakfast meals, but she didn’t think she’d be able to finish one. She was weak with hunger, but her stomach turned at the thought of food.

“Eat what you can, I’ll finish the rest,” said Tommy.

It didn’t take long for Skye to eat what she could. The first bite made her feel sick, but she forced herself to eat half the sandwich. Water went down smoother. She drank a full cup quickly, and still her throat was dry and scratchy.

When they reached the emergency room, Tommy instantly hopped out of the driver’s seat to help Skye from the truck. She was able to take a few stumbling steps of her own this time, but Tommy slung her arm around his shoulders to assist her. She braced against him as they limped inside the hospital.

As they approached the front desk, Tommy said, “Hi, I don’t know i—”

The nurse stood up when she saw them. “You’re Skye Penderwick!” she gasped.

Skye jumped at the sound of her name. She hadn’t thought about that. Their story would have been major news, probably nationally. The thought made her queasy. In fact, when she looked at the lobby TVs, their abduction was being touched upon, and Jeffrey’s picture flashed across the screen. Skye quickly looked away.

“I am,” said Skye. “I need a doctor.” She felt like an idiot. No one came to the emergency room without needing a doctor.

“Of course, hon,” said the nurse. She sat back in her chair and typed something in her computer. “We’ll get someone to help you right away. You’re safe now.”

Skye wished people would stop telling her she was safe. It didn’t comfort her. She knew that she was. It wasn’t her safety she was concerned with. It never really had been.

“Are you injured?” the nurse asked. “Or do you just need us to give you a full examination to make sure you can walk out of here safely?”

“Yeah,” said Skye, then she realized she’d been presented with two options. “Uh, the second one.”

The nurse finalized her notes as a second nurse approached the desk with a wheelchair. “Alright, hon,” she said. “This is Jessica, she’s going to take great care of you, okay?”

“Hi Skye,” said Jessica. “How are you doing today?” She and Tommy helped Skye into the wheelchair.

“Better than yesterday, I guess.”

“Of course. I’m really happy to see you,” said Jessica. “Would you like your friend to come back with us?”

Skye felt a wave of relief. She’d thought Tommy wouldn’t be allowed to come with her. The last thing she wanted was to be left alone with a bunch of prodding strangers, no matter how friendly they were or how many times they called her “hon.”

Jessica checked her temperature, her pulse, and her blood pressure. Once she’d taken the necessary vital signs, she wheeled Skye into a separate room. Tommy trailed close behind. There, Skye was subjected to a series of x-rays before she was taken to a third, separate room.

“Would you like help getting onto the bed?” Jessica asked.

Skye shook her head and climbed up herself. She swayed a little and Tommy rushed forward to steady her, but she caught herself before he had to.

“You need some fluids, so I’ll hook you up to an IV.” Jessica took out the necessary supplies. “Are you left or right handed?”

“Right.”

Jessica carefully swabbed the inside of Skye’s left elbow with an alcohol pad. Skye flinched a little when the needle went into her arm. She’d never minded needles before, but now she cowered at the thought of any kind of foreign object piercing inside of her, medical purpose or not. 

The nurse set her up to an EKG before finally, she left them alone to wait for the doctor. Skye tried to rest comfortably in the bed, but there was nothing comfortable about a hospital. The time she’d spent any significant time at one, her mother had died.

Tommy dragged his chair over so that he was directly next to her. He rested his hands on the edge of the bed. “Are you okay?” he asked. “I mean, I know you’re not _okay_ okay, but…well,

still. Are you?”

Skye laughed a little at his clumsiness. It was such classic Tommy, and that in itself comforted

her. Even the smallest piece of her old life felt like a gift. _Old life?_ Was that what it was now? Was she doomed to separate everything into a pre-trauma category and a post?

“I…” She wanted to give him an honest answer, but she hardly knew what that would be. “I feel confused. I want to be happier than I am, but I can’t. I just feel…wrong.”

Tommy nodded and squeezed her hand. He didn’t say anything because he didn’t know what he could say. That made Skye feel better. She didn’t need him to talk to her to comfort her. Being with him was more than enough. Being in the presence of Tommy Geiger was not something Skye had expected to ever experience again.

“You said that it’s over,” said Skye. She swallowed nervously as she searched for the right words. She stared into the ceiling’s light fixture until her eyes glazed over. “It’s not. Not for me. It won’t even be close to over until Jeffrey is safe or he’s…”

“Until he’s safe,” said Tommy firmly.

Skye sniffed and turned her head to instead examine the needle pumping saline into her arm. It took several seconds for her to be able to see anything but the purple ghost of the ceiling light burned into her eyelids.

“And even then,” she said. “It won’t be oven then.” It probably never would be. She could still so clearly feel everything Dexter had done to her. Every skin cell he had touched prickled with revulsion.

“I’m sorry,” said Tommy. “I’m so sorry you had to go through that.”

Skye swallowed again, this time to force down the uncomfortable lump lodged in her throat.

Tommy pulled his phone from his pocket. “Do you want to call your father?”

Skye’s eyes welled with tears at the thought of hearing her father’s voice. “What have you told him?”

“Nothing. I thought I should let you,” said Tommy.

Skye mouthed “thank you” as she took his phone from him. Her hands shook with anticipation. At the sound of the dial tone, Skye’s heart constricted with strange nerves.

“Young man, where did you run off to?” Mr. Penderwick answered.

Skye was so overjoyed to hear him, she forgot to say anything. Her tears spilled over her eyelids.

“Tommy? You there?”

“Hi Daddy.”

There was a stunned silence on the other end of the line.

_“Skye?!”_

“Yeah,” she squeaked out. “It’s me.”

A second stunned silence.

“Oh my darling daughter,” said Mr. Penderwick through tears of his own. “Wha—how—where are you? Are you alright?”

“I’m okay.” Although truthfully, she wasn’t sure she’d ever feel alright again.

“And you’re safe? You’re really safe?” Mr. Penderwick confirmed. “Tommy didn’t get himself into trouble, did he?”

“Hey!” Tommy protested. He could hear everything.

Skye laughed, just a little. “I’m safe.”

 _“Et lux in tenebris lucet,”_ murmured her father.

Skye smiled so broadly it could have broken her face. Her father’s Latin had never sounded so beautiful to her. She’d missed it more than she thought possible.

“Daddy?” Skye whispered. “I missed you. So much.” It sounded ridiculous, like she’d been on a weekend trip, not locked up in a torture chamber getting raped. But it was the truth.

She could hear her father sniffling. “I love you, honey.”

“I know.”

“We’ve been going a little crazy around here without you,” said Mr. Penderwick. “I think Nick and Tommy are the only stable ones.”

“I can confirm, this is absolutely true,” Tommy whispered to her.

“What happened?” asked Mr. Penderwick. “Did you escape?”

“No, I…um, Tommy?” Skye put the phone on speaker so that Tommy could answer her father.

“Dexter sent Nick an address,” Tommy explained. “That’s where we found her. He…let her go, in a sense.” Skye was more than appreciative that Tommy had left it at that.

“He did?”

“Just me.” Skye blinked tears away. “Jeffrey…he didn’t…he’s still…” She stopped there.

“Oh Skye, I’m so sorry,” said Mr. Penderwick. He sighed deeply, and when he spoke again, he sounded a little bit like someone was throttling him – a sound Skye was now horrifyingly all too familiar with. “But I am glad you’re safe.”

“Yeah,” she said dejectedly. Skye was out of things to say. She couldn’t think past Jeffrey, and she didn’t want to talk about that.

Tommy stepped in before either end of the call could be quiet for too long. “Hey just so you know, Mr. Pen, she seems alright, but we’re at the hospital right now so she can get looked at just in case.”

“Smart man.”

Skye jumped. A woman in a lab coat stood in the doorway holding a clipboard.

“The doctor is here,” said Skye. “I have to go. I love you.”

Tommy took the phone from her and stepped out into the hall for a moment to finish up the conversation with Mr. Penderwick. Skye wanted them both back the second they were gone.

“Skye? I’m Dr. Singh,” said the woman in the lab coat. “How are you feeling?”

“Okay,” said Skye. She sat up carefully so she wouldn’t disturb the tubes and wires she was hooked up to.

“I had a chance to look at your x-rays, everything looks great. No broken bones or blood clots or anything,” Dr. Singh said with a smile. “Nothing concerning with the EKG either.”

Skye gave her a weak smile in response. Her mind wandered yet again to Jeffrey. _His_ x-rays would not come back looking great. His bones were broken. Very. They’d snapped like twigs. Jeffrey hadn’t screamed like that before. She hadn’t known that it was possible for a person to make a such a dreadful sound. Skye didn’t believe in miracles, yet here she was, the living embodiment of a miracle. It would take another for her to even see Jeffrey again. Would it be foolish to hope for two?

“Skye?” said Dr. Singh patiently. She’d likely been trying to get Skye’s attention for a while.

“Sorry,” said Skye. She forced her attention onto the doctor. “Yes?”

“I’d like to run you through a quick concussion test if that’s alright with you.”

“Sure.” Skye just wanted it all to be over. She wanted to be out of the hospital so she could see her family.

“To start, can you tell me your full name, please?”

“Skye Magee Penderwick.”

“Do you know where you are?” Dr. Singh asked as Tommy returned to the room.

“The hospital,” said Skye. “I don’t know which one.”

The doctor nodded. “That’s okay. Now, I’m going to ask you a series of symptoms. I’d like you to rate each of them on a scale of one to five.”

Skye knew how this went. She was a soccer player. She’d been subjected to many concussion tests. She’d been diagnosed with two.

“Headache?”

“Three.” There was a steady throbbing underneath her skull, but she hadn’t paid much attention to it until the doctor mentioned it.

“Nausea?”

“Um, one, I think.” She felt a little sick, but she didn’t think that had anything to do with her head. All she had to do was think “Jeffrey” and her stomach would lurch.

Dr. Singh made a note on her clipboard. “Dizziness or balance problems?”

“Dizziness: one, balance: four.” She could hardly stand up on her own.

Tommy interjected, "She was locked in a cabinet for eight hours minimum, that’s probably why.”

The doctor nodded. “You’re probably right. Okay, when we’re done here, Skye, we’ll do a quick evaluation of your reflexes. Is your vision blurred at all?”

“No.”

“Numbness or tingling?”

“Three.” Her hands and her feet with both asleep. They hadn’t awakened much when Nick had unchained her, except to start prickling instead of being completely without feeling.

Dr. Singh wrote that down, then clicked her pen and stuck it in her lab coat pocket. “Okay, I’m going to tell you three words, then in about five minutes or so after we’ve done a couple other things, I’ll ask you to repeat them back to me. Ready?”

Skye nodded.

“House. Dog. Blue. Got it?”

“Yes.”

“Alright, now, I’d like you to count backwards from 100 by seven. Whenever you’re ready.”

Skye could probably do that even if she had a decent concussion. Her brain was hardwired for numbers.

When she’d finished, Dr. Singh looked pleased. “You did that very well,” she observed.

“I like math.”

“Me too,” said the doctor. “Follow my finger with your eyes, please.” She traced her index finger in an “X” in front of Skye’s face.

Next, she shined a light into Skye’s eyes to check her pupil dilation. She looked pleased once more. She picked her clipboard up and clicked open her pen. She took a few more notes before she said kindly, “So there is some significant bruising on your face, which probably doesn’t shock you. I would like to include some notes about what happened if that’s alright with you.”

Tommy slid his hand over Skye’s and patted it supportively. Skye rewarded him with a grateful smile.

“How often did he beat you?”

Skye furrowed her eyebrows while she thought about that. She hadn’t been beaten a ton. Not like Jeffrey. “Only a few times.”

“What did he use?”

“His hands,” said Skye. “A golf club once. That hit me in the face.”

Tommy tensed beside her.

“Where in the face?”

Skye touched her hand to her temple. It was still tender and she winced a little bit.

“I’m sorry you were put through that,” said Dr. Singh. “Do you remember the three words I told you earlier?”

“House, dog, blue.”

“Perfect. You got it.”

Skye was a little irritated by the small feeling of accomplishment she felt at that. Had her achievements really been boiled down to so little? If she needed another reason to hate Dexter (she didn’t), this was it: he made her feel so insignificant that remembering three, single syllable words was a point of pride for her. Fuck that.

“You don’t have a concussion,” Dr. Singh said. “I only have a couple more things I’d like to go through with you, and then we’ll be all done.”

Skye knew that the doctor was required to walk her through everything so explicitly, but she didn’t have the patience for it. She was close to snapping at her. She longed to tell her to just get on with it already, but she held her tongue. Dr. Singh was only doing her job.

The saline bag was empty, all of the fluid had been transferred into Skye’s vein. Dr. Singh disconnected the IV and firmly wrapped Skye’s elbow to contain the bleeding. She unclipped Skye from the EKG wires. Skye tried not to be sickened by the doctor sliding her hand up her shirt to reach the clips. She reminded herself firmly that Dr. Singh was doing what she could to help her.

“Still feeling okay?” Dr. Singh checked.

Skye swallowed back her annoyance. She was so tired of being asked that. Her answer was the same, just as she was sure it would be in five minutes when the doctor would likely ask her again. “I’m fine.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” said Dr. Singh. She opened a drawer and took out a small rubber hammer. “I’m going to perform a deep tendon reflex exam so I can make sure your muscles are contracting effectively. We’ll test five tendons on each side of your body: your triceps, biceps, brachioradialis, patellar, and Achilles tendons.”

She instructed Skye to sit up and dangle her legs over the side of the bed.

“We’ll start with your right arm, and I’ll first test your bicep tendon,” said Dr. Singh. “I’m going to be looking for muscle contraction, you may see some responsive movement, but don’t be alarmed if you don’t. As long as your muscles are contracting properly, there will be nothing to worry about.”

Dr. Singh took Skye’s arm in her hand. She pressed her thumb into her bicep, just above the crook of her elbow. She tapped her thumb with the rubber hammer to increase the pressure on the tendon. Skye’s arm twitched automatically.

Dr. Singh repeated this process with each additional tendon, then she tucked the hammer back into the drawer. “All your reflexes look great,” she said, smiling. “I couldn’t’ve hoped for any better.”

It wasn’t rational, but that made Skye more annoyed. It wasn’t that she _wanted_ to have a reflex problem, but with every test that came back with ideal results, she felt more and more like she was wasting her time.

“I’m going to clear you,” said Dr. Singh. “But I want to ask you a couple of things first. Just glancing quickly, I can see a lot of ligature marks on your skin. If you’re comfortable telling me, it would be really beneficial for me to know how you were restrained.”

Skye wrapped her arms around herself for comfort. She picked nervously at the bandage around her elbow. She wondered how many times she would have to recount what happened to her, how many people she would have to tell. She looked at Tommy for support. He offered to answer for her, and she gladly took him up on that. She watched the doctor’s face crinkle with an appalled surprise, then smooth over as she pulled herself together and resumed a sympathetic, but contained demeanor.

“How long were like you like that, Skye?” she asked once Tommy had finished.

Skye shrugged. It wasn’t like she’d had a way to tell time. “Days, probably – at least my arms were, I don’t know.”

“That’s okay,” said Dr. Singh. “A rough estimate is perfect.” She set her clipboard to the side again. “Well, like I said, everything I’ve tested is looking great, but considering the how severely you were restrained, I’m a little concerned about potential nerve damage. I’m going to send you up to Neurology where they’ll run you through what’s called an electromyography. They’ll make sure your muscles and your nerves haven’t suffered any functional damage.”

Skye exhaled. One more diagnostic test and she would scream, really she would.

“You’re doing great,” Dr. Singh commended her. “All things considered, you seem perfectly healthy. You’re very lucky and a strong girl.”

Skye smiled half-heartedly. She didn’t feel lucky. It didn’t matter that now she was free, she still felt like the unluckiest girl in the whole damn universe.

“There is another option for you as well, I just have to ask you one more question.” Dr. Singh was laying the sympathetic tone on extra thick. It made Skye cringe with discomfort. She hated to be pitied.

“Were you ever abused sexually?”

A now familiar feeling of garbage being dumped over her head made Skye feel nauseous. She nodded subtly. Her face burned with a humiliated flush. She deliberately did not look at Tommy. He already knew, of course. It was obvious, but admitting it in front of him was different. She didn’t given the doctor verbal confirmation, but just her nod had made her feel ashamed.

“I’m so, so sorry that happened,” said Dr. Singh. “And this in no way required, but you may choose to complete a sexual assault forensic examination. The nurse examiner on call is excellent. If you would like, she’ll conduct an examination on your body to collect evidence.”

 _No_ , thought Skye. _I wouldn’t like that at all, actually._ Instead she said, “You mean like a rape kit?”

“Yes,” said Dr. Singh with a nod.

Skye didn’t want to do it. No part of her wanted to be subjected to someone poking around at her genitals. She would feel violated all over again and she’d had more than enough of that for one lifetime.

She almost said no, the word was on the tip of her tongue, but she bit it back. She was a walking crime scene. The police would need that evidence. If not the police, then a prosecution team would need it when Dexter finally stood trial – and he would. Skye was cynical, but she firmly believed that. His retribution would come eventually. If it didn’t, then the world truly was nothing but a cruel place with no redeeming value. It would be a place she wouldn’t want any part of.

So instead, Skye agreed. Jeffrey was still being tortured; if he wasn’t, he was dead. She would not disrespect him by refusing the rape kit. If he could suffer through that, she could suffer through a single, invasive test. She carried damning evidence with her. She could make a sacrifice so they could collect it. If not for her, then she’d do it for Jeffrey. Besides, she had survived the actual rape – she’d survived it five times in fact. If she could do that, she sure as hell was strong enough to survive this.

* * *

**A/N: Not me failing my own made up concussion test because I forgot the three words I picked.**

**also I work in healthcare and my coworkers and I definitely all say "hon" 150 times a day. It's a problem. It needs to stop.**


	26. Chapter 26

Tommy’s phone rang for probably the eighteenth time. The entire Penderwick family had tried to reach him at one point or another – even Aunt Claire. 

“Rosalind, again?” asked Skye. 

“No, Jane.” 

“Do you think it’s wrong that I don’t want to talk to them right now?” The more they called, the guiltier Skye felt about telling Tommy to ignore them. 

Tommy shook his head. He sent Jane another text saying that yes, Skye was with him; yes, she was alright; and no, she wasn’t available to talk to her just yet. 

“You can’t be wrong,” said Tommy. “Whatever you have to do, they’ll understand.” 

“I just want to wait until we’re out of the hospital,” said Skye. “Maybe then I’ll be able to process everything better. I don’t think I can handle talking to them until then.” 

“You don’t have to explain yourself,” said Tommy. “It’s your shit to work through, not theirs. They’ll be fine.” 

Skye had been fiddling with her hands, but she looked up to flash him a bit of a smile. “Eloquent.” 

He smiled back at her and shrugged. “That’s never been one of my skills.”

A nurse passed by them and Skye stiffened anxiously. She’d finished her nerve tests and passed with flying colors. No nerve damage. She and Tommy were waiting in the hospital lobby for the sexual assault nurse examiner – the S.A.N.E. nurse as they called it. Ironic, considering the rape kit process was about to make her _in_ sane. They’d been in the hospital for more than five hours. Skye watched all the staff members and marveled at how they could stand their job. They were in a hospital at least forty hours a week; that seemed unhealthy. After only five hours Skye already wanted to kill herself. 

She had to stop using that expression. It was automatic; she’d never thought anything of it before. It wasn’t that she wanted to kill herself anyway, more that she wished Dexter already had. She didn’t entirely let herself think that though, not yet. She wouldn’t unless Jeffrey died. If that happened, then she’d spend the rest of her life feeling that way. 

“Skye?”

Shit. The nurse was there for her. Skye had secretly been hoping they’d forgotten about her. Impossible, of course. She was still on the news. Several people in the lobby had been glancing back and forth between her and the television. The press had caught on. They were waiting for her outside the hospital. If she looked over her shoulder, she count at least four major news networks.

“Hi, hon, how are you?” said the nurse. “My name is Kiana. Are you ready to get started on your examination?” 

Skye exhaled and stood up. That was as good an answer as any. 

“Do you want me to wait here?” Tommy asked. 

“Uhh…” Skye bounced her right leg nervously. On one hand, no. He made her feel safe. But on the other, she felt such a deep shame already. She didn’t know what exactly a rape kit entailed, but it was nothing she’d want him to see. She was mortified enough by the condition that he had found her in. Her face and neck grew hot as she pictured him taking off her blindfold, pulling out her gag. For some reason that particular bit embarrassed her the most. That, and the fact that he was sitting there half-naked just so that she could gain back the tiniest bit of her dignity. That decided it. She nodded and said, “Yeah, can you? I’m sorry.” 

“For what?” said Tommy. He actually looked relieved. “I’ll be here when you’re done.”

Skye followed the nurse into the closest elevator. They traveled up two stories and neither of them said a word to each other. It was awkward, but Skye preferred that to making small talk, and she didn’t want Kiana to tell her how sorry she was for her either. 

They entered through a door that read: “Attention. Do Not Enter. Authorized Personnel Only. Please Contact On-Call S.A.N.E. Nurse for Assistance.” How fucked up did the world have to be for an on-call sexual assault nurse examiner to have to exist at all? The room looked just like every other hospital room she been in. Skye wondered how many girls had been inside it before her and how many would follow after. 

“If you want, you can take a seat,” said Kiana. 

Skye sat at the end of the bed. The nurse took several small vials from plastic bags and set them on a tray next to her. 

“To start, I’m going to swab your face and the inside of your cheeks for DNA,” Kiana said. “And I just want you to know that if at any point, you don’t want to continue the examination, that is absolutely okay. Let me know and we’ll stop.” 

She dragged cotton swabs down Skye’s cheeks, her nose, and her forehead. She sealed them into the vials on her tray. “Open your mouth for me, please.” 

Skye closed her eyes, tempted to shy away as the nurse swiped another cotton swab around in her mouth. She opened them soon after; the vision of Dexter forcing himself down her throat was too clear with them closed. She could still taste him.

“Thank you,” said Kiana as she set that swab to the side with the others. “This next part will be a little uncomfortable for you, but if you’ll allow it, I need to collect your shirt for testing. Then I’ll take some photos of you to document your injuries.”

Skye fidgeted uncomfortably. She’d just gotten clothing back, she wasn’t ready to give it up. “It’s my friend’s shirt,” she said. “He gave it to me because I didn’t have anything. You’ll find his DNA on it.” 

“The boy in the lobby?”

Skye nodded.

“You have a great friend,” said the nurse. “You don’t have to worry. There is a chance some DNA may have transferred over to it, but we know who’s we’re looking for. Your friend won’t get into any trouble.”

Skye didn’t protest any after that. Kiana took out a paper bag, and reluctantly, Skye stuck Tommy’s shirt into it. She crossed her arms tightly over her chest. She felt small. She followed Kiana behind a white curtain. The nurse took photos of her from every angle. Skye flinched with each click of the camera shutter. When they’d finished and Kiana helped her into a hospital gown, Skye was so happy to be wearing something again that she almost cried. 

Kiana picked through Skye’s hair with a comb. She handed Skye a plastic cup. “I need a urine sample. The bathroom is right over there.” She pointed at a door in the left corner of the room, then she gave Skye a small, fine-toothed comb. “Then go ahead and comb through your pubic hair with this to collect any loose sperm cells.” 

Skye took them from the nurse and tears pricked at the corners of her eyes. After being given a full bag of saline and drinking a large cup of water from McDonald’s, Skye should have had to pee more than she did. She should’ve had to hours ago, but that was just how dehydrated she was. Her throat still burned, and it hurt a little to swallow. She felt like there were still threads stuck to her throat from the socks Dexter had gagged her with. 

When Skye returned from the bathroom, the nurse instructed her to sit back on the bed. “I know this is difficult for you,” she said. “But can you describe what happened?”

Skye’s intestines knotted together. “Do I have to?”

“To continue, yes,” said Kiana. “But if you would like to stop here, we can.” 

Skye stared down at her feet and swung her legs back and forth alternatively. “No,” she said after what must have been a couple of minutes passed by. “I don’t want to stop.” 

“If you think it would help, I can ask you some questions to guide you,” said Kiana. She grabbed a clipboard to take notes. 

“It would.” 

“Okay, of course,” she said with an understanding nod. “How many times were you assaulted?” 

“Four,” said Skye. “Well, five – he made me blow him…I don’t know if that counts.” 

“It does,” said Kiana. “Did he penetrate you with his penis or his fingers?”

Skye gave a start at such an abrupt question. It rolled off the nurse’s tongue like she was asking her about flavors of ice cream.

“Um, both. He used his whole hand once. But that would mean it was six times. Actually…” She paused, remembering. Her heart thudded in her chest. “Sort of seven? He made Jeffrey…um…put his fingers…”

She’d all but forgotten about that. It felt weird to include it. It didn’t seem as bad anymore. She’d much rather have experienced that six more times than have had to go through everything that had come after. 

“Sorry,” said Skye as she watched Kiana scratch out what she’d written to replace the number. “I didn’t answer that very well.” 

“You have nothing to apologize for,” said Kiana. “I understand this is hard to talk about.” 

It wasn’t just hard to talk about, it was like reliving it. 

“Did he penetrate you vaginally or anally?” 

This time the question didn’t startle Skye, but she was no less uncomfortable. 

“Both,” she said again in a whisper. A tear slid down her face. She didn’t brush it away. It dripped from her chin and landed in her lap. 

The nurse saw that, and she set her clipboard to the side. “You know what, I think that’s all I need,” she said. She filled a paper cup with water and handed it to Skye. “Are you able to continue?” 

Skye nodded and gratefully gulped down the water. 

“Okay great,” said Kiana with a supportive smile. “Can you lay back on the bed? Then go ahead and put your legs up for me, I’m going to need to swab your genitalia.” 

Skye had known that was coming, but that didn’t make her any more ready for it. She bent her knees and spread her legs like a woman in labor. She fought down the bile rising up her esophagus. A couple more tears fell. 

“I’m going to take a couple swabs from both the vaginal area and the rectum,” said Kiana as she pulled out the necessary supplies. “Then I will collect your vaginal discharge using a speculum. Before I begin, I need verbal consent from you. Do I have your permission?”

“Yes,” Skye said through the phlegm thick in her throat. She coughed a couple times to clear it out. Skye held her breath. She was still sore. Her muscles reflexively contracted against the light pain the cotton swab elicited. 

Kiana reached for the speculum on the tray and Skye’s heart beat even more fiercely. It was a lot larger than she’d expected it to be. It looked threatening.

“Tell me about your friend,” said Kiana. “The one waiting for you outside.” She was trying to distract her. “What’s his name?” 

“Tommy,” said Skye. She gasped as the metal tool entered inside and opened up her vaginal walls a fraction of an inch. She tried not to let it remind her of Dexter, but it did. “He’s my neighbor, and I’ve known him my whole life. He used to date my sister.” 

“Really? Dating neighbors can be a little risky,” said Kiana. “How many siblings do you have?”

Something scraped smoothly between her legs and Skye shook with discomfort. “Five.” 

“Five? Wow, big family,” the nurse said. 

“Yes, and we’re all pretty close.” 

“Good,” said the nurse. “It’s good to have that support system.” She capped a tube and retracted the speculum. Skye let herself relax a little. 

“The last thing I’m going to do is apply a dye to your genital area that will allow me to visualize damaged tissue.” 

When the nurse brushed on the dye, Skye flashed back to Dexter ripping her legs apart to force himself on her. This sensation was nothing like that, but it was impossible for her to be touched without remembering it. Physically, she remembered it as well. Whenever she thought about it, everything prickled and stung like he was inside of her all over again. 

The nurse wheeled over a cart and pulled down a camera-like instrument. “This is a colposcope,” she explained. “It will capture some magnified images of the damage.” She turned the cart so Skye wouldn’t see the pictures that appeared on the screen. 

Once she’d finished, Kiana stood from her stool. “You’re all done,” she said. She gathered some pill bottles at the counter and separated them into two different bags. 

Skye got up from the bed. She could stand easily now, and while her legs did tremble when she walked, she didn’t think she was in any danger of falling over. Her body just felt exhausted, the way that it did after an especially intense soccer game. 

The nurse handed Skye a clipboard. “I have a couple of things for you to sign. Initial here and here,” she pointed with her pen. “Then I need your signature at the bottom of this page and one more time on the back.”

Skye signed everything without even glancing at what it said. She could not possibly care less. 

Kiana traded the clipboard for the first of the paper bags. “This is your morning after pill,” She handed Skye the second bag. “These are antibiotics for you to take as a precaution in case you’ve had any exposure to STDs. There is a piece of paper with instructions for you, as well as a number you can call if you experience any of the following: excessive bleeding, severe cramps, vaginal pain that lasts more than three days, pelvic pain, fever, nausea, shortness of breath or trouble swallowing, hives, thoughts of self-harm, or suicidal ideations,” she said. “You did wonderfully today, thank you for all of your help. We’re always here for you if you need anything, alright?”

Skye nodded and thanked her. The nurse had been nice enough, but Skye was more than happy to never see her again. As she rode the elevator back down to the first floor, her brain felt foggy. A variety of memories were flipping through her head; she didn’t focus on any one thing. Dexter was in a lot of them. She thought about him assaulting her and how he had laughed at Jeffrey while he did, and about everything she had seen Dexter do to him. She thought a little about all the times she’d interacted with Dexter as a kid too. They’d thought he’d been loathsome then. Ha! _That_ Dexter had only been mildly irritating.

Mostly, however, Skye was just thinking about Jeffrey. She was remembering what it was like to have him laugh at her or dodge one of the many punches she had aimed at his arm over the years. None of those memories were bad, but tainted under the lens of potential loss, they were the ones that hurt her the most. If Jeffrey survived, Skye would never hit him again. Ever. 

The elevator dinged and its doors slid open. Skye stepped into the lobby. Tommy wasn’t alone anymore. Nick had joined him, and – Skye dropped her bags of pills – so had her father and Iantha. Skye wanted to run to them, but she was so shocked to see them there that her feet stayed stuck to the floor as she took in the perfect, _perfect_ sight that was her two parents. 

Tommy noticed her first. He nudged Mr. Penderwick and nodded in Skye’s direction. The first thing both her father and Iantha did when they saw her was cry. Iantha dropped Mr. Penderwick’s hand to cup both of hers over her nose and mouth. Skye twirled a strand of her hair around her finger, riddled with anxiety. She was afraid to move, worried that if she did, they would fade away like a mirage. 

It was Mr. Penderwick who moved first. He swept her into such a tight hug it hurt, but it was a pain that she welcomed. She could feel her father shaking as he cried. 

“I love you,” he said, kissing the top of her head. “I love you so, so much.” 

Skye squeezed him harder and sobbed into his chest. Iantha joined them and the three of them sank to the floor in a joyous, weepy huddle. It wasn’t until the last of their tears had dried that anyone moved at all. 

Mr. Penderwick leaned back and took Skye’s face in his hands. “Let me look at you.”

Skye wished he wouldn’t. She didn’t want him to see where Dexter had hit her. It would break his heart, and her poor father didn’t deserve to suffer any more on her behalf. If only she could keep everything separated, with Dexter hidden in a locked box in the furthest corner of her mind. Then, she could pretend he didn’t exist at all. She could reunite with her family and everything would be just as it always had been. No one would worry about her or see the trauma she had experienced written in the bruises across her face. No one would look at her the way her father was now. 

“My brave girl,” he said after many long seconds. A tear beaded at the tip of his nose. “My brave warrior of a daughter.” 

There had been a time when Skye wanted nothing more than to be acknowledged as the brave warrior she’d so strongly believed that she was, but she didn’t feel like one anymore. She felt like an imposter, posing as a warrior for everyone else while inside she was nothing but a crying, frightened little girl who was afraid of being touched again. Her fighting spirit had packed its bags and left, flipping her off on the way out. If it ever came back, she wasn’t sure she’d invite it back in. She’d been so naïve before. She’d talked a big game about courage and battle, but she’d never known what either of them had truly meant. She would give anything to have never had to learn. 

Skye took her father’s hands from her face, and he let them drop to his sides. 

“Hi,” she said to Iantha, somewhat shyly. 

Iantha hugged her and kissed her cheek. “Hello, darling,” she said. She sighed contentedly into Skye’s shoulder. 

Hugging Iantha filled Skye with the coziest warmth. It spread from her chest to the tips of her fingers and toes. Skye adored her father, the Geigers had handled everything flawlessly, and Jeffrey – Jeffrey was inimitable, a complete godsend. They’d each done everything right, but that didn’t change the fact that every last one of them was male. To be hugged by a woman was an unsurpassable source of comfort. She itched for Iantha’s touch again the second she let her go. 

“We brought you a change of clothes,” Iantha told her. She took a plastic bag from her purse. 

Once she had changed, Skye stared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror. They’d brought her a baggy, long sleeve shirt (an army green Disneyland spirit jersey from the family’s trip to California the previous summer) and some dark sweatpants. She reveled in the minimal amount of skin she was showing. Her eyes stung with fresh tears, so she rubbed at them until the sensation had passed. She tried to blink away their redness, but the bloodshot look was apparently there to stay. She splashed water on her face to keep herself calm before she rejoined everyone outside. 

There was a blonde woman in a pant suit standing with them that Skye had never seen before. “Hello, Skye,” the woman said as Skye approached. “I’m Supervisory Special Agent Ginsburg. I’m with the FBI.” 

Skye slowed to a trepidatious pace. She could now see the badge hanging off the woman’s hip. 

“She wants to talk to you,” said Mr. Penderwick. “But I told her you need your rest, and tomorrow would be better.” 

“No!” Skye disagreed, startled her father would think such a thing. “No, it wouldn’t. No.” 

“Skye, you’ve just been through a great deal—”

“I know what I’ve been through, Daddy. More than you do.” That came out snippier than she had intended. “He still has Jeffrey. I’ll talk to her now.” 

Mr. Penderwick took his glasses off to clean them with his shirt. He was still scrubbing at them long after the last spot was gone. 

“Mr. Penderwick, talking with Skye now could be difference between life and death for Jeffrey,” Agent Ginsburg said patiently. “We don’t have time to wait.”

Mr. Penderwick sighed and finally placed his glasses back on the bridge of his nose. His eyes teared up once more, but they dried before any tears actually fell. “I can’t argue with that.” 

Skye hugged her father. “I’ll be okay,” she promised. 

“There is an empty conference room down the hall they’re allowing us to use,” said Agent Ginsburg. “Are you ready?” 

“Can we come with you?” asked Mr. Penderwick. 

Agent Ginsburg hesitated. “Well…” 

“Please don’t,” said Skye. “I don’t want that to be the way I tell you about everything.” Not to mention that there were some things she would _never_ tell her father. 

Mr. Penderwick sat in one of the black chairs up against the window. “Of course,” he said, looking as broken as Skye felt. “I understand. If that’s what you want, I will respect that.” 

Skye smiled. “Thank you.” 

“Everything went well with the nurse?” Agent Ginsburg asked as Skye followed her into a dimly lit room. She flipped a switch to provide them with more light. 

“It was fine,” said Skye. 

“I’m happy to hear that,” said the agent. She sat at the long table taking up most of the room’s floor space. “I know it’s hard to discuss experiences like this, but it will be incredibly useful for me and my team, so thank you for agreeing to speak with me.” 

“I just want to help Jeffrey.” 

“I know you do,” said Agent Ginsburg as she took a small yellow legal pad out of her suit jacket. “And you will. I’ve been doing this a long time, I have a group of my best agents working with me on this. We’re doing everything we can to find him.” 

“Like how you and your great agents found me?” said Skye as an unexpected anger ignited within her. “Oh that’s right, you didn’t. My neighbors did! You expect me to trust you to find Jeffrey?” Her chest rose and fell in rapid succession. She had a full rant prepared, but she cut herself off. “No, wait wait wait. I’m sorry. I’m not going to waste time by losing my temper.” She took deep steadying breaths like the ones Nick had walked her through that morning. “What do you want to know?” 

Agent Ginsburg folded her hands and looked directly into Skye’s eyes. “Skye, I care very deeply about this case. I have a son who is Jeffrey’s age, and I promise, I am putting as much effort into this as I would be if my son was the one missing.”

Skye broke eye contact with the agent. She felt equally angry, but now she felt guilty about it. 

“I want to start with the night of the abduction,” said Agent Ginsburg. “Can you tell me what you were doing before the attack?” 

“We were in Jeffrey’s room, nobody else was home. I went downstairs to call my sister.” Skye didn’t think it was important to include the ridiculous argument she and Jeffrey had gotten into. It had been stupid then, but now, after finally admitting to herself how she felt, it was the single most moronic thing she’d ever done. She lost herself in wondering how things might have gone differently if she hadn’t insisted on being so bull-headed. Instead of getting angry with Jeffrey for telling Churchie to talk to her for him (which she could now readily admit he most definitely had not done), she could have told him that Churchie had been right, her opinion on romance could change. It had changed – changed enough anyway. What would have happened if they hadn’t fought at all that night? She’d never have gone downstairs alone; Dexter wouldn’t have been able use her to bait Jeffrey. Maybe Mrs. Tifton would have returned home and Dexter never – no. No, she wasn’t naïve enough to believe that. Dexter must have already been in the house by then, and he knew where Jeffrey’s room was. It wouldn’t have saved them, but Skye could have spent her last free moments with Jeffrey kissing him rather than screaming at him. Unless of course, he got angry with her for being so toxic and wishy washy about it. She supposed that was possible too, although it was unlikely. He probably would have laughed at her. 

“You were talking to your sister Jane, correct?” clarified Agent Ginsburg. “I spoke with her the other day.” 

“Yes, Jane,” Skye confirmed. 

“And what happened after you hung up?” 

Skye struggled to remember. That part was all such a blur. “I was on my way back upstairs. I heard something, so I looked to see what it was and he was standing in the corner – Dexter was. I didn’t know who he was yet, he had a mask on.” Skye stopped to watch Agent Ginsburg take note of everything she had said. “I think I screamed,” she continued. “I ran, I was trying to warn Jeffrey, but he caught up to me in the kitchen and put a knife to my throat. Jeffrey got there, and he…he just did what Dexter wanted so he wouldn’t hurt me.” 

“You care a lot for each other, don’t you?” the agent observed. 

Skye almost sarcastically replied with, _no actually we’re mortal enemies, but we thought trying to die for each other would be a fun way to spend the weekend_ , but she’d said she wouldn’t lose her temper and she meant that. She carried on like the agent hadn’t made any comment at all. 

“Dexter made me handcuff him and…and gag him.” The memory made Skye sick, and she clutched at her stomach. “He put this collar on him and tied my hands before he took us outside. He put, um, socks in my mouth and tied a pillowcase over my face, then he put us in the trunk of his car and drove off.” 

Agent Ginsburg scribbled furiously on her notepad. “Did you drive for a long time? A few minutes?” 

Skye thought back to the conversation she had had with Jeffrey about the same thing. “Well, I – I tried to keep track by singing a song over and over, and I calculated that it was about two hours.” 

Agent Ginsburg raised her eyebrows. “That was a good idea, Skye. It will be very helpful.” 

“And Jeffrey said he could tell we got on US-7 South,” Skye rambled on. “He told me he was positive. We thought he might have taken us near the Long Island Sound, but I’m not sure about that. I looked around once and there were just trees everywhere, and I screamed for help but nobody was nearby.” 

The agent wrote all of that down eagerly. “You mentioned looking around, what does that mean exactly? Do you know what Dexter was holding you in?” 

“In a shipping container. A grey one, like you see on semi-trucks,” said Skye. “It’s in a clearing in the woods. He left the door open and said I could go, so I went and looked outside at where we were.” 

“He said you could go?” the agent repeated, astounded. “But you didn’t.”

Skye shook her head. She was exasperated as more tears started to flow. She was seriously considering having her tear ducts surgically removed. “I couldn’t leave Jeffrey.” 

“That’s quite the sacrifice,” said Agent Ginsburg. “You must really love him.” 

“I do. More than life.” When she said it, it wasn’t an expression. It was proven fact. 

Agent Ginsburg flipped to a fresh page for notes. “Once you’ve returned to Massachusetts tonight, I’d like you to stop by the station there to give a complete statement. They’ll ask you about everything that has happened these past few days,” she said. “But for right now, I’d like to focus on the most recent bit. I already spoke with Nick and Tommy. They explained their side of things, but can you walk me through what happened?” 

Skye didn’t answer right away. She had to formulate her thoughts. The only thing that rang clear in her mind was Jeffrey’s broken leg. By focusing on that, she’d blocked out everything that had happened to her. She had to think hard to unbury it. When it did finally resurface, the force of it was so strong it knocked the wind of her. 

“Take your time,” Agent Ginsburg said reassuringly. 

“I thought I was going to die. That’s what he said. He told Jeffrey he was going to kill me.” An icy chill shot down her spine. Just remembering how scared she had been terrified her all over again. “He took me outside where Jeffrey couldn’t see, then he uhh…” She trailed off as she remembered Dexter throwing her into the trailer wall and kicking her when she fell. He’d thrown her around a lot, each time kicking at her when she was down. All of that was before he’d even started to hit her. She slid a finger along her jaw and felt where it was puffy and bruised. 

“He beat me up,” she finally finished. “Before he raped me.” Her voice sounded weak and small when she said it. She felt herself blush deeply again. She covered her reddening cheeks with her palms and turned away from Agent Ginsburg. “Twice. Two different ways.” 

The first time he had shoved Skye’s face in the dirt. He’d pulled at her hair, lifting her head so that with each thrust he could force her face back into the ground, scraping her cheek across pieces of rocks and sticks. The right side of her face was red and scratched open like she’d been attacked by a specifically aggressive cat. 

When Dexter had flipped her over, it hadn’t gotten any better. He’d finally taken the collar from her neck, but only so he could better strangle her with his own hand. He’d continued to batter her face, striking her with his open palm, his fist, the back of his hand. That wasn’t all he had done either. He’d bitten her several additional times, so that both of her breasts were marred by bloodied, purple teeth marks. He’d raked his nails down her body. He’d closed both of his hands over her throat and squeezed so tightly that his fingers dug between the bones in her neck. 

“I thought that was how he’d kill me,” Skye said when she’d finished describing all of that to Agent Ginsburg. “But he must have stopped once I passed out.” She hadn’t felt him pull out of her, she was unconscious before then. “I don’t think I woke up until after he’d left me in the storage unit. Then I went in and out of consciousness until Tommy and Nick found me,” she said dispiritedly. “So…yeah, that’s all.” 

Agent Ginsburg flipped her notebook shut and stuck it back into her jacket. “That was very, very helpful, Skye. Thank you.” 

Skye wiped at her running nose, then stared at her sleeve in disgust. “He really hurt him,” she said. “You have to find him.” 

Agent Ginsburg stood up from her chair. “You’ve given me a ton to work with. This could be a turning point for this investigation,” she reassured her. “We’ll be able to narrow our search radius to a much tighter area, and based on what you’ve told me, I think we have a good shot at finding Jeffrey. It’s never easy to talk about this, but the level of detail you’ve given me could very well save his life. Thank you for being so brave.” 

There is was again: brave. She so did not feel brave. Ten thousand people could tell her otherwise, but that still wouldn’t change. She only felt weak, depreciated, and absolutely powerless. 

“You’re free to go back to your friends and family if you’re ready,” said Agent Ginsburg. “I’ll walk you out.” 

Skye didn’t say another word to the agent, not even when she thanked Skye one more time and bid her goodbye. She’d relayed every last detail of her final assault to the woman, there was nothing to be said that could follow after that. 

“Skye? Are you alright?” Mr. Penderwick asked her, concerned. 

It was only then that Skye realized she was shaking like a dead leaf in a rainstorm. Her skin

felt clammy and cold; she must have been frost white. She gave her father a one-armed hug.

“One day I will be,” she said, hoping that was the truth. 

They walked out of the hospital like that, each with one arm tightly squeezed around the other. It was decided that Skye would ride with her parents, and the Geigers would take turns following behind them in Nick’s truck. Nick offered to drive first, so Tommy climbed into the back of the Penderwick’s van with Skye. 

“We’ve been staying at Arundel,” said Mr. Penderwick. “But would you like to go home, sweetheart?” 

“No,” said Skye. Arundel was the closest she could be to Jeffrey. It didn’t matter that it was where they’d been attacked; it was Jeffrey’s home. His life was there; his stuff was there. Her very first memories of him were all there. It was the only place she could possibly think to go. “I want to go to Arundel.” 

Her father agreed without any protest. Once they had pulled safely onto the highway, Skye unbuckled her seatbelt and slid across the seat so she was directly next to Tommy. 

“Tommy?”

“Hm?”

“Have you talked to Rosalind?” 

“A little.” 

“Is she giving you the third degree?” 

Tommy laughed. “More like second degree, but I’m sure that’s coming next.” 

Skye spoke quietly, just barely a whisper. She didn’t want her parents to hear her. “Well, when she asks for details, promise that you won’t tell her the whole truth.” 

“I’ll tell her what I told your dad,” Tommy whispered back. “Just that we found you in a storage unit, nothing else. How’s that?” 

“Thank you.” 

Skye slept until they stopped for gas and Nick traded places with Tommy. She made him promise her the exact same thing. 


	27. Chapter 27

Jeffrey had passed out shortly after Dexter had left him. As his consciousness had started to fade, he'd had some hope that it was his life that was leaving him. That appeared not to have been the case.

"Fuck," he groaned as he woke up again, still disappointingly, completely alive. He'd been roused by a noise outside. "Just kill me already," he muttered. He was so done. The only thing he could think about was how much he hurt. When the door opened, Jeffrey didn't bother to look up. He kept his eyes fixed on the puddle of his blood that had dried into the carpet. He didn't move until Dexter's hand was under his chin. He lifted it so he could better examine the way that Jeffrey's face had swollen. Jeffrey flinched away from his touch.

"Are you afraid of me, Jeffrey?"

Jeffrey said nothing, though he was fucking terrified of him.

"I'm not leaving today until you apologize," said Dexter smugly. He wrapped a thick rope over Jeffrey's eyes. It pushed them back into his skull. The pressure made colors swim behind his eyelids until they faded into a bright white. "Unless you die first."

Jeffrey heard Dexter's footsteps retreating. He rummaged through his things. Jeffrey's body contracted in fright, which sent a fresh pain slicing through him. He told himself to look on the bright side; he couldn't possibly take much more pain. If he was lucky, he'd die sooner than Dexter meant for him to.

Dexter hit him until his brain felt mushy and sluggish again. Blood poured over his lip; it split open in two different places. His loose back tooth cracked. The top half of his molar broke away. Jeffrey fished it out of his cheek with his tongue and spat it onto the floor. He choked on the blood in his mouth before it ran over his chin and down his neck, his chest.

"Was that your tooth?" Dexter hooked his finger into Jeffrey's cheek and pulled it back from his teeth so he could look for himself.

Jeffrey still said nothing. His mind was hardly working. Even if he would have figured out something to snap back with, he wasn't sure he remembered how to verbalize his thoughts anymore.

Dexter looped a chain around Jeffrey's neck; it was cold and biting. "Ready to apologize?"

Jeffrey shook his head, so slightly that he hardly did at all, but that alone worsened his headache until his skull seemed to be splitting.

"I have to say, I'm not disappointed," said Dexter. He tightened the chain around Jeffrey's throat with a swift yank. His windpipe constricted and closed. He struggled for air, but the chain was unyielding and he couldn't force even a single breath. His body flailed like it was controlled by a puppet master pulling on strings. A hot pain shot through his leg and he choked out a cry. There was another suspicious pop in his wrist. His lungs burned. He thought his chest might crack open. His eyes felt like they would burst. His mind, already muddled, fogged over from the lack of oxygen to his brain. He was seconds from passing out. Just when Jeffrey thought Dexter would strangle him until he died, he released the chain. Air flooded back into Jeffrey's lungs. Every breath scratched his throat until it was raw.

He only had a few seconds to recover before Dexter coiled the chain tight around his neck. The burning in his lungs came on quicker; it was more intense. Jeffrey tried to kick Dexter away from him, but his broken leg was dead, and the other didn't have the strength to carry the weight of it. He swung his legs out feebly, but they knocked into Dexter with little to no force at all.

Dexter snorted. "That's the best you can do?" He pulled harder on the ends of the chain so that it sank deeper into his throat, crushing his trachea. Darkness started to close in on him. His struggling slowed. Again, Dexter let go.

This went on for quite some time. Always Dexter stopped just before Jeffrey blacked out, and always he hardly gave him enough time to catch his breath before he started again. When finally he stopped, he left the chain resting around Jeffrey's neck. Blood tickled his throat as it dripped from fresh cuts. Each of his frantic breaths came as a harsh wheeze that rattled in his chest. His lungs still hurt as they inflated. Breathing felt strangely threatening, like he was sucking in dust instead of air.

Dexter put a bottle of water to Jeffrey's lips. He took several sips from it, then Dexter crushed the bottle in his fist and water sprayed up Jeffrey's nose and into his airway. It splashed over his face and he coughed and spluttered, fighting for breath all over again. He could hear Dexter laughing, but he couldn't tell where he was. He didn't know where he'd come from. His heart beat like it was punching at him.

Dexter doused him with a wave of icy water. Chunks of ice bounced off of him onto the floor. His breath hitched. His heart stopped. His skin pricked with thousands of the sharp needles of freezing water. Jeffrey shivered and angry pain shot through his wrists. His teeth chattered violently. He cried out, reminded abruptly of his broken tooth.

"Imagine how Skye would be screaming at me if she was here," Dexter said from right in front of Jeffrey's face. He started strangling him again. "Do you miss that? Hearing her cry for you?"

The only thing Jeffrey missed about that was how it had meant that Skye was alive.

"I kind of miss it," said Dexter. "It boosted my ego."

Jeffrey was too cold to struggle against the chain this time. He still gasped for breath, but other than his constant shivering, his body was frozen still.

"I know you at least miss her," said Dexter as he stopped choking him. "I have something of hers. You can have it."

He stuck Skye's underwear in Jeffrey's mouth. He recognized the feel of it. Dexter kept his hand clamped over Jeffrey's lips and said, "Spit out if you want to bite off your tongue." Then he took his hand away.

Not knowing what that meant, Jeffrey opted against spitting it out. He rather liked his tongue. When another shiver shot down his spine, he didn't think it was from the ice water.

Two metal prongs stuck into Jeffrey's ribs and an electric current slashed through him like a red hot knife. His head flung back. He clenched his teeth deep into the fabric in his mouth, and still he crushed his teeth. Every muscle viciously contracted. His legs kicked out without him knowing how. A scream built up in his chest, and the underwear balled up in his mouth did nothing to quiet it.

Dexter stripped off Jeffrey's shoes and socks. He shocked the soles of his bare feet. His legs spasmed, and as electricity coursed through each of the shattered bones, his knee felt like it was breaking again for the first time.

"It's a cattle prod," said Dexter with great pride. "I can use this thing for hours and it won't kill you." Excited, he next poked it into Jeffrey's back, right over his spine. He didn't have control over his body. His back twisted and arched. His scream reverberated off the walls, loud enough that there could have been a second screamer in the room. Before he'd even gone quiet, Dexter had reached up and pressed the prod into his right palm. His arm convulsed and he floundered on the hook, snapping his wrist hard against its shackle. It broke. He hardly felt it; the electric pain was overpowering, but he still knew it had. When his scream died down, it was followed by a sob. He grit his teeth harder over the underwear. His jaw ached from the strain.

"You know what I want, Jeffrey," said Dexter. "Say it, and this all ends."

God, he was tempted. But he'd told himself he would die first, and that was a promise he intended to keep. He doubted himself when Dexter pressed the cattle prod into his stomach. He'd always had a decently high tolerance for pain, but this obliterated his limit and he was already so tired of hurting.

Still, he didn't give in. Dexter wasn't patient. If Jeffrey held out long enough, Dexter would get angry. Once he was angry, he would either kill him, or he would leave. Jeffrey would be happy with either of those options. Dexter held the cattle prod against his chest for a long time – Jeffrey lost count after six seconds, but it felt like an entire lifetime. He thought his heart might finally stop. It was racing like it had the time he'd chugged down three Red Bulls and nearly fainted.

Dexter moved his weapon all over Jeffrey's body. Jeffrey didn't want to scream; he knew it was egging Dexter on, but he simply did not have the power to stop. Screams tore from his throat and burst past the underwear gritted in his teeth.

"It's music," said Dexter after a cry that was significantly louder than the rest. "Pure music."

Jeffrey was starting to think that he must have done something truly awful to Dexter and then forgotten about it. He couldn't pretend to fathom what that could be, but there was no other comprehensible reason for Dexter to being doing this to him. He knew that the truth was he'd done nothing, but that didn't stop him from wracking his brain trying to find something Dexter could be punishing him for that wasn't his divorce. Fifty percent of marriages fail; what did that matter. It wasn't fucking special. His mother was a difficult woman; it would have happened eventually.

Electricity hurtled through Jeffrey's back, his neck, his legs – through every part of him. The longer it went on, the more every shock hurt him. He could have been on fire, and he wouldn't have noticed the difference. He was being ripped apart. His voice cracked and he couldn't scream anymore. All Jeffrey could feel was the tearing hot agony. He couldn't feel his limbs. Pain was the only thing he could identify. He was an indistinguishable heap of tortured flesh and he had no idea what was what. His legs could be gone, cut away entirely; he wouldn't know. If it was possible for a person to be fed through a woodchipper and survive as a shredded mound – no limbs, no shape whatsoever – it would probably feel exactly how Jeffrey felt. He was hardly conscious. He could barely think past the pain at all. He endured four additional shocks before finally, a thought formed in his mind.

The thought was fuck it. His pride wasn't helping him any. It took an astronomical amount of effort for him to open his mouth. His jaw was locked. When he did get it open, he didn't have any energy left to spit the underwear out, but he poked at it weakly with his tongue until it fell out.

He said it, or rather, he tried to. He couldn't yet speak. The two words ran together and were so quiet, they were more of a strange sounding breath than actual English. Dexter grabbed Jeffrey by the neck. His thumb and his finger dug underneath his jaw.

"What was that?"

"I'm…" Jeffrey took the words one at a time so his faint whisper could be understood. "Sorry."

 _"Are you?"_ Dexter's shit-eating grin was audible, but he wanted Jeffrey to see it. He pulled the ropes from his eyes. "Say it to my face."

The blindfold was gone, but Jeffrey still couldn't see. It was like the constant pressure over his eyes had shut them off. When his vision slowly returned, everything was blurry and tinged an odd sort of green. Jeffrey jumped. Dexter was standing no more than six inches from his face.

Jeffrey internally kicked himself for it, but he looked Dexter in the eye and gave him the apology that he wanted.

Dexter tightened his hand around Jeffrey's neck. He could still breathe, but barely. "What are you sorry for?"

"For…" Jeffrey had to think about it. "Ruining your marriage." That was enough speaking to take all of his breath. He struggled through the next sentence. "And for…disrespecting you…I have from… the day I met you and…" He stopped to catch his breath, only to lose it again just as quickly. "I apologize." He inhaled deeply. "Forgive me. Sir. Please."

He'd laid it on a little thicker than he had planned to, but he was desperate for Dexter to stop.

Dexter flashed him a smug smirk. "That wasn't so hard, was it?"

Jeffrey shook his head while Dexter dug his fingers deeper into his neck.

"Do you know what this means?" He picked Skye's underwear up from floor.

"You win," he mumbled. Dexter tied the underwear into Jeffrey's mouth with a rope. It was harsh against his cheeks; they stretched back when Dexter knotted it behind his head and they chafed under the rope.

"Yes, I win. And guess what else?" He picked up a long stick with two metal prongs at the end of it. The cattle prod.

"Nrrf!" Jeffrey whimpered. _No._

"I lied." A huge, boastful smile spread slowly over Dexter's face. "The thing is," he said. "I _don't_ forgive you. So this won't be stopping anytime soon."

Jeffrey panicked. He started to cry. He couldn't take this anymore. He hoped he would die before his mind gave out. Dexter dragged the cattle prod from the base of his neck to his navel. His body flapped like a flag in the wind.

"You really believed me, didn't you?" said Dexter. "You thought I would stop." He laughed at the concept.

Jeffrey's scream was better muffled with the cloth actually tied into his mouth. Tears poured down his face and soaked into the rope securing his gag. Dexter stuck the prongs underneath Jeffrey's jaw. The current snapped it shut. His neck slung back a second faster than his head, which was heavy like a bowling ball.

"Forget your apology," said Dexter. _"This_ is all I want."

Jeffrey's tears were blinding him. He couldn't make out the shapes in front of him; everything was fuzzy. The room was undulating like they were on a boat. Even his pain was starting to feel farther away.

Dexter dumped another bucket of ice water over Jeffrey's head. He'd been so close to the bliss of unconsciousness, but here he was, awake again to fully suffer. The water made the electric current course through him faster.

"You can't help yourself. Just like you couldn't help Skye."

Jeffrey had had a vision of Skye's death in his head for at least hours, probably days. It was the same one every time. It started with Dexter raping her again and it ended with her lying in the grass with a bullet in her face. This was the first time it was returning since he'd awoken, and now that it was back not even the extreme pain he was in could drive it away.

"I made a mistake with her," Dexter said a little ruefully. "I shouldn't have killed her. I should've kept her as a fuck doll forever."

Anger boiled inside of Jeffrey, so that when Dexter shocked him again, his scream was more of rage that it was of pain.

Dexter delighted in Jeffrey's response. "I'll admit, you have a great taste in girls."

 _She was eighteen. EIGHTEEN!_ Jeffrey tried to say. He knew he wouldn't be understood, but he couldn't stay quiet.

"That's a compliment. Say thank you."

Absolutely fucking not. That was disgusting. Dexter had already raped her, he'd killed her, and still he had to talk about her like that. The same, haunting vision of her darted across his mind. He swore every curse word he knew at Dexter, several more than once. Bringing up Skye had been a mistake. Electricity still tormented him and he still screamed in agony, but Jeffrey's strength had come back. He knew that Skye was gone, and he couldn't save her or avenge her, but that didn't mean he couldn't still fight for her. It didn't mean he had to accept Dexter degrading her. He would never accept that.

"Her family knows now," said Dexter. "I sent them a little notice, but they're still at Arundel bothering your mother."

Jeffrey forced away images of the rest of the Penderwick family grieving over Skye, but he got stuck on Batty. She'd been so upset, so empty from the loss of their dog Hound, what would the loss of her sister do to her?

"She's stuck with the rest of that family, but I ultimately did her a favor. Brenda always hated Skye the most. I doubt she cares that she's dead. She'll be happy not to have to deal with her."

If Jeffrey's anger had been started to boil before, it now boiled over and foamed and filled him with adrenaline. He shouted at Dexter. "Mmph mphmrr mph-vr fink fat."

The gag loosened. He'd forced the underwear from his mouth, but the ropes still held it tight against his lips. When he spoke, it fell back in his mouth a little and mutilated his speech. It was fine. He could talk enough.

"Mwy muvr wid n'vr fink fat," he said, enraged by Dexter's accusation. Skye had always been his mother's least favorite Penderwick, this was true, but she acknowledged her as a human being. That was all it took to be better than Dexter, and his mother was worlds ahead of him. "On'f fink wou are va fuffeen fame."

"Don't think we're the same?" Dexter clarified. He looked amused by Jeffrey's struggle. "I don't. She doesn't have the spine."

"See hafe wou!" Jeffrey yelled. He didn't want to hear Dexter talk about his mother either. "How va fuf vu wou fink see fill 'ow?"

Dexter chuckled and raised his eyebrows. "Excuse me? Were those words?"

"Mwy muvr hafe wou." He tried to say it more clearly, but it wasn't possible.

Dexter shrugged. "There's a fine line between love and hate," he said with a wink.

"Mof alwuz." At the end of the last word, the ropes came loose and the gag slipped again. The rope caught in his bottom lip, but the underwear fell away entirely. "Not always," he repeated. "Not in this case. She's disgusted by you. That's it."

Dexter's eye twitched with irritation. The more life that came back to Jeffrey, the angrier Dexter got. He'd brought the fire inside of Jeffrey down to smoldering embers, only to then fan them back into a flame.

"You can be pissed at me, but you're the one that fucked up," said Jeffrey. "You made her have to pick a side. She's my _mother_ , she'll pick me every time. You never stood a fucking chance."

Dexter went outside. He was gone for only a minute. He came back with his hand hidden inside the pocket of his jacket.

"You have a dirty mouth," said Dexter as he revealed his hand. It was full of mud.

Jeffrey was at the point of almost finding it funny. This could not be his life. Dexter smeared his hand across his mouth and crammed it with mud. Jeffrey tried to jerk back from him, but Dexter buried his nails into his face and kept him trapped between his fingers. The mud was gritty and soft; it was full of twigs and blades of grass. Something moved against his tongue – a bug of some kind. Dexter shifted his hand so that it covered both Jeffrey's nose and mouth. He waited until he was too desperate for breath not to, then he swallowed. His throat didn't want to allow it, but he compelled it to open so that the mud would slide down his esophagus. He wretched, but swallowed that back as well. Satisfied, Dexter let go. There was a small stick lodged in Jeffrey's throat. He wheezed and coughed until finally, he hacked it up and spit the stick out.

"Sorry," said Dexter scathingly. He dug his hand into his pocket once more. "I'll wash that out for you."

Jeffrey hadn't yet stopped coughing when Dexter jammed his socks into his mouth – the ones that he had been stuck wearing since Friday night. They were now saturated with soap. His mouth started to foam. It tasted bitter and burned his throat. He choked again as he swallowed. Dexter wedged Skye's underwear in between his two socks. It wouldn't fit all the way, his mouth was too full. When Dexter had packed as much of it inside as he could, he retied the rope. He pulled it tighter with each loop until both sides of Jeffrey's jaw popped. Determined not to let it fall again, he grabbed a roll of duct tape from where it hung on the wall. He layered the bottom half of Jeffrey's face with tape so that the gag was fully covered.

There was nothing Jeffrey could do. His mouth was pried open as far as it could be and filled to maximum capacity. He couldn't so much as lift his tongue. Soap was still dripping down the back of his throat. The rope rubbed his cheeks raw and the tape pinched and tugged at his skin, making him itch.

"Say something," said Dexter.

Jeffrey wouldn't.

Dexter picked the cattle prod up again. "It's funny. I hardly think about your mother anymore."

He stuck the metal tips to Jeffrey's temple. It fried every thought from his brain. It felt like the roots of every one of his teeth had been cooked through, so if not for the extensive amount cloth pinning them in place they would have each fallen out entirely.

"Instead I think about Skye."

Jeffrey flung himself at Dexter the best he was able, which was not well at all. He shouted _don't talk about her!_ It was a reflex.

"Oh, so _now_ you'll say something." Dexter side-stepped him with zero difficulty. He grinned widely. "I know you."

He yanked the chain around Jeffrey's neck. When he fought to breathe, he sucked his gag into his throat, which convulsed around it to try and expel it, but with another involuntary, unsuccessful gasp he pulled it back down again.

"She was my own cheap little whore," he said it like he was remembering her fondly. "My private cumdump."

That was a word Jeffrey had never heard before. He was livid. The veins in his forehead were ready to burst, and it was from his fury, not the strangulation. Dexter dropped the chain. It was an arduous task for Jeffrey to catch his breath again. He ground his teeth into the cloth in his mouth and forced himself to only take in shallow breaths through his nose.

"I should have kept her," Dexter reiterated. "I don't know what I was thinking."

Jeffrey seized as another electric current surged through his body and made him scream.

"Was she a virgin?" Dexter asked him. "I like to think she was. I haven't fucked a virgin since high school."

Jeffrey didn't actually know if she was or not. He'd always assumed she would tell him if she wasn't. They'd told each other everything. Right now, however, he hoped more than anything that she hadn't been.

"She wasn't even a person to me," said Dexter. He cut off Jeffrey's air supply again. "Just a cunt for me to fuck whenever I felt like it. Why I threw that away, I'll never know." Without releasing the chain, he pressed the cattle prod back into Jeffrey's side. The pain was so overwhelming he hardly heard Dexter say, "That was the best pussy I've ever had. It's a shame you never got to experience what a great fuck she was."

Jeffrey was so angry it was like his personality was splitting. The rage inside of him grew until it was practically its own person while the rest of him faded away.

"Want to know what I would do to her right now if I could?" Dexter was getting turned on just talking about her. Jeffrey could hear it in his voice. He wanted to tell him off for it, but all that could be heard was an angry, smothered grunt.

"I'd fuck her face until she turned purple. That pretty mouth of hers was made to be around my cock." He undid his belt buckle so he could put his hand into his pants. Jeffrey swore at him. Dexter eagerly played with himself. "I'd spread her legs over her head and use her that way a few times before I flipped her over and tied her down on all fours. Fucking her ass was my favorite. I liked the way it made her scream."

Dexter got an excited look on his face and Jeffrey stopped watching him. _Shut up_ he thought as loudly as he could, trying to drown out what Dexter was saying. _Shut up shut up shut up fucking shut up_. His hands were asleep, but they curled into fists that made hot pain shoot from his wrists. He could hardly tell the difference from that and the flood of fiery rage that burned through him and roared in his ears.

"She was a sack of holes for me to stick my cock. I'd make her crawl for it and beg me to fuck her while I spanked her with my belt." His voice shook from stimulation. "She'd do it. I'd just have to lay one hand on you and she'd be a good, submissive little slut."

Jeffrey choked on an angry shout. She would have done it. He hated knowing that. It made him almost relieved that she was dead.

Dexter finished touching himself and wiped his hand off on the carpet. "She looked so good in chains, didn't she? I'd wrap her in them and leave her gagged so that she'd always be waiting for me still and silent like the useless fucking doll she was."

He strangled Jeffrey until his eyes rolled back into his head.

"She was a slave to my dick." Dexter took a step closer so that his face was next to Jeffrey's ear when he whispered, "She felt me fucking her until she died. I was balls deep in that cunt when I shot her. _That_ was unexpectedly hot."

That shattered Jeffrey. He was worse than outraged; he was heartbroken and he felt deeply accountable. He was crying so hard he nearly suffocated from his running nose. If he could go back to stop the Penderwicks from renting Arundel Cottage all those years ago, he would without a second thought. Jane had once told him that they had all been brought together by fate, but that wasn't right. It was the damn devil. He never should have met Skye. She should never have had to breathe the same air that Dexter did.

"Keep crying," said Dexter. "She's not coming back."

Dexter cut the ropes around Jeffrey's knees, leaving only his ankles still bound. He tugged his pants down and stuck the most sensitive parts of his genitalia with the cattle prod. It was the worst he had ever hurt him, and Dexter held it there the longest. Jeffrey counted only a three second break before it happened again, over and over until Jeffrey was certain there would be nothing left but a charred stump.

More water was poured over him. This time, there were two waves. The first was hot, not scalding, but enough to burn him. The second was icy once more. Jeffrey went rigid with shock from the drastic temperature change. His blood froze and he forgot how to breathe. He hadn't yet remembered when Dexter strangled him again as he poked the cattle prod back into his neck.

Dexter seemed to have run out of new things to say about Skye. He'd stopped bringing her up. He'd stopped speaking entirely. Jeffrey heard the clink of a chain before he saw Dexter dragging it across the floor. He circled around Jeffrey and whipped him with it, each time lashing a new piece of him. He shrank back from it as it tore him open, and his shoulders screamed as they were nearly ripped out of place. His legs took the brunt of the beating; now that he was completely bare, Dexter was making a point to leave them as shredded as the rest of him. They felt crushed, like they'd been run over by a two-ton truck.

Dexter tossed the chain aside and went back to his electric weapon. Each time he stuck Jeffrey with it, he pulled the chain around his neck taut to choke him. Jeffrey wasn't strong enough to even keep his eyes open anymore. He wondered how long it would take for his heart to have mercy on him and give out. He thought about praying for that to happen sooner, but he decided against it. The last time he'd tried that, it had done nothing to help him. If God did exist, he'd ignored him. He'd let Dexter kill Skye. Jeffrey would gladly go to Hell before he had anything to do with a god like that.

Dexter could sense that now he genuinely had won. It didn't matter what he said anymore, there was nothing that could bring Jeffrey back from this. To say he'd been broken didn't cover the half of it, and Dexter knew it.

"You belong to me, Jeffrey. Are you ready to admit that?"

He was brutalized to the point of having his entire spirit, his essence as a human being pulverized – ground into a find powder and scattered to the wind. He nodded weakly.

"Look at me when I'm talking to you."

Jeffrey did try to lift his head, but it wouldn't listen to him. Dexter pushed it back for him. Jeffrey pried his eyelids open so he could just see Dexter through his lashes.

"You would call yourself my property?"

Again, Jeffrey nodded. The satisfied smirk on Dexter's face didn't even bother him. He didn't have the energy to care. He just wanted death.

"Well that would make you my slave, wouldn't it?"

Sure. Whatever.

"Do you have any value at all?"

Jeffrey shook his head no. Dexter could have any answer he wanted from him.

"That's the right answer. You're worthless. A fucking worthless slave."

In that moment, in that location, suffering the way that he was, that hardly felt like a lie. In this reality, he was worthless. It didn't matter that there were people looking for him, or that his parents would be devastated that he was gone. It didn't matter that for some inconceivable reason Skye had chosen to die for him. Dexter was the only person he would see until he was finally dead, and Dexter said he was nothing, so he was. The worst part was Jeffrey didn't care. He didn't value his own life, so what worth could he have, really?

"You have one purpose. You're a toy for me to abuse until I'm bored. That's what you owe me, isn't it?"

Jeffrey hesitated. Not because he wasn't planning on answering, but because he was exhausted. He needed a moment to figure out whether the response Dexter wanted was yes or no.

He took too long, and Dexter hit him. "Isn't it?"

The desired answer was yes. His brain really did not want to work, but Jeffrey was about sixty percent sure of that, so that was the answer he gave.

"Do you deserve this?"

Jeffrey nodded.

"Say it."

"Mmph." _Yes._

"Yes, sir. I deserve this," Dexter instructed him.

"Mmph mrrph. Mm mphmph mmph."

Dexter laughed, shocked by just how defeated Jeffrey actually was. He wanted to see how far he could push him. "Tell me you're my slave."

 _I'm your slave._ He could push him pretty damn far. Humiliated, Jeffrey submitted to him entirely. He'd say anything to keep Dexter from hurting him, even if it was just temporarily.

"Remind me what you're worth."

"Mphmmph." _Nothing._

"One more time."

_I'm worth nothing._

"Good boy." Dexter let Jeffrey's head fall. He ruffled his hair like he was petting a dog. "I've got a secret," he said as he blindfolded him once more. "That was a little arousing for me. I'll think about _that_ the next time I jack off."

That single comment made him feel revolting. Jeffrey jerked away from Dexter's hands, but he just cinched the ropes tighter over his eyes. He repeated everything – the beatings, the choking, the electric shocks. Jeffrey didn't have it in him to scream anymore. He hung motionless and close to unresponsive to his abuse. He was constantly on the brink of it, but he never lost consciousness. Dexter wouldn't let him.

An hour must have gone by before he was spoken to again. Unless it was ten minutes that only _felt_ like an hour. The possibility of that terrified him.

"Your girlfriend is dead. So is your pride. And your dignity." To prove that, he flicked Jeffrey's head up so it fell as far backward as his neck would stretch. Jeffrey couldn't stop his frightened whimper. His back arched as gravity dragged his head down toward his heels. He was too weak to lift himself.

"Yeah your dignity is long gone," Dexter reiterated. "It looks like the only thing left for me to take from you is your life. Do you want me to kill you?"

Jeffrey tried to nod, but his head felt like it weighed fifty pounds and was about to tear from his neck. Instead he grunted affirmatively. He'd never wanted anything quite the way he wanted that.

"Good." Dexter did sound pleased. "If you ask nicely, I just might."

Fine. Whatever it took. His dignity really was dead.

"Kymph mmph." It was so quiet he wasn't sure he'd even said it.

"What?"

"Kymph mmph." _Kill me._ He said it louder. When Dexter didn't respond, he tried again.

"I don't know what you're saying. What's that?" Dexter's question quivered with suppressed, sarcastic laughter.

"Kymph mmph. KYMPH MMPH PHMMPH!" _Kill me, please!_

"I'm sorry, Jeffrey," Dexter mocked him with fake sympathy. "I can't understand you. I don't know what you want."

Jeffrey kept trying. He screamed it, but he was gagged too well now. No matter how loudly he shouted, he could say the words. He started to sob. He'd thought Dexter would give him that. He'd thought that he would kill him, but he finally understood. Dexter would never kill him – not directly. Jeffrey would have to die himself.

"Aww, you're crying. Poor baby," Dexter ridiculed. He pat Jeffrey's face to belittle him. He knocked Jeffrey's head forward again. It fell with such force that his chin smacked into his chest. "I wish you could see how pathetic you are. I wish Skye could see it."

That was the last Jeffrey heard from Dexter for a long time. He set a heavy pair of industrial earmuffs over his head, silencing the world for him. He couldn't see, he couldn't hear, he couldn't speak or move. He was deprived of all his senses. The only thing he was aware of was his pain. When electricity sliced through his cells like hot glass, he felt his vocal cords strain with a scream, but he couldn't even hear that.

He willed himself to die, but death refused to take him.

* * *

**A/N: This took me two weeks to write cause I was so uncomfortable I had to take breaks to watch Barbie movies.**

**Also the reddit threads I looked at for help made me want to cleanse myself with Holy Water**


	28. Chapter 28

"Calm down, Rosalind," said Jane.

Rosalind was fretting. Exceptionally well if she did say so herself. "Tommy isn't responding," she said while she chewed on the inside of her cheek and paced across the room.

"You texted him thirty seconds ago!" Jane reminded her. "Give him time."

"It's been two minutes, actually," Rosalind sniffed, as if that made all the difference. "How can you possibly be this relaxed?"

Her sister was laying out on the couch with a book open in her hand. She was the picture of tranquility. Jane read another page, then after reaching a suitable stopping point, shut her book. She swung her legs to the ground and sat up straight to face Rosalind directly.

"I'm not relaxed," she said. "I've never been this nervous to see anybody. I'm freaking out, Rosalind!" Her words jumbled together in an anxious hurry. Her voice was at least three octaves higher than normal. "I don't know what I'm supposed to say to her or how to react or if I'll even get to hug her, I don't know! But I'm trying to distract myself, and please for the love of everything beautiful in this world, do the same thing. You're stressing me out!"

Rosalind took a deep breath and stopped her pacing. She checked her messages and there was still nothing from Tommy, so she resumed her pacing.

"Sorry," she said. She bit at her thumbnail and set her phone on the small table next to the couch. She paced across the room twice more, then checked her phone again. "It's 2:30, Jane!" she said, unable to stop herself despite her sister's protesting. "She's still at the police station and it's 2:34 AM. How can they do this to her? She needs to rest; she needs to see her family."

"She has to talk to them," said Jane, though Rosalind didn't think she sounded incredibly enthusiastic about that fact.

Jane was right. Jeffrey wasn't with Skye. When Mr. Penderwick had answered Skye's call, Rosalind and her sisters had been overjoyed to the point of tears. When he had told them about Jeffrey, Jane's crying had turned into heart wrenching wailing that had sucked all of their previous elation from the room. Rosalind's own heart still felt heavy and cumbersome when she thought about him. Jane had said Dexter was torturing Jeffrey. She had been known to use the word "torture" rather liberally in the past but this time Rosalind knew that Jane was entirely accurate. Skye would stay at the police station all night if that's what it would take to save Jeffrey.

"I'm scared," said Jane, voicing Rosalind's exact feelings. "What if…what if she's not the same person?"

"She won't be," said Rosalind. Of that she could be absolutely certain. Skye was tougher than the rest of the family, but Rosalind was too pragmatic to think that meant Skye would come home emotionally unscathed. Her sister might be safe now, but Rosalind knew they had a different storm coming – one she was equally unprepared to handle.

"How can I face her?" said Jane. "If I'd just minded my own business, none of this would have happened to her. She might hate me now."

Skye would come back feeling a lot of horrible things, but a hatred for Jane would not be one of them. "No, Jane, she doesn't," Rosalind promised. "She doesn't blame you."

"She might," argued Jane. "She should. I do."

"She _doesn't,"_ said Rosalind. "It could have been any one of us here on Friday. Do you blame Jeffrey for inviting us?"

"Of course not!"

"Right, because why should you? He didn't know what would happen, and neither did you," said Rosalind. "Don't hold yourself to a different standard."

Jane stared off into space for a while before she finally conceded that point with a solemn nod. "How come you can make me feel better but you can't calm yourself down?" she asked. "How does that work?"

"I stress so you don't have to," said Rosalind. "That's the idea anyway."

"Well stop it," said Jane. "Let's both just try to be happy."

Rosalind's attention snapped to the window. The glow of headlights streamed in through the blinds. A car door opened and shut. The family van beeped and locked. She heard her father's voice. She looked at Jane with anxious anticipation. For a second, she forgot how to move. Then she jumped from her seat at precisely the same time as Jane. Rosalind's head and her heart pounded. She hadn't even seen Skye yet, and already she wanted to cry.

They almost crashed into Batty and Alec coming from the music room. Mrs. Tifton trailed behind them. Rosalind's heart went out to her. She'd been in the room when Skye had called Mr. Penderwick. By the time he had hung up, she'd already known the truth. "Jeffrey's not there, is he?" She had said. When Mr. Penderwick had confirmed that he wasn't, along with his deepest condolences, Mrs. Tifton had tearfully promised to try to be happy for them. She'd left before any of them could see her truly cry. This was the first Rosalind had seen of her since.

They all stopped at the front door. No one was sure if they should open it. It swung open on its own before they had decided, and Mr. Penderwick stood behind it.

Nick followed in directly after him. "Okay, you guys need to back up. Give her space."

They all did, and Iantha entered next. Her arm was around a battered, exhausted Skye. It was dead silent in Arundel's entry way. Everyone started at her, uncertain of the appropriate thing to say. Rosalind felt weak and dizzy as she took in the remnants of the beating that Skye had obviously suffered. Her face was more discolored than it wasn't. She had a black eye, and a blood vessel had burst, flooding the white of her eye with a vibrant red. There were more scrapes and bruises than Rosalind would allow herself to count, and that was just the part of Skye that was visible. The dark, finger shaped purple marks coiling around Skye's throat pushed Rosalind over the edge. She burst into tears.

Skye smiled slightly at all of them and shrugged Iantha's arm from around her shoulders so she could stand up straighter.

"Hey," she said in a hoarse whisper.

Jane moved first. She decided to go for the hug, and it was evidently the right choice. She sobbed into her shoulder, and Skye hugged her back just as fiercely.

"No need to be so dramatic," said Skye, attempting a joke.

Jane laughed, then sobbed some more. Skye never cried. She pulled out of the hug, so Jane turned to Mr. Penderwick instead. Her sobbing showed no sign of quieting in the near future. Rosalind hugged Skye next. Her sister returned the gesture, but despite her tight grip on Rosalind, it felt like her heart wasn't in it. Rosalind hated how distant she felt.

"I'm sorry," Rosalind said in her ear. "I'm so sorry. I can't imagine, I'm sorry."

"Thanks," said Skye, a little awkwardly.

She was probably tired of hearing that, but Rosalind had to say it. She was reluctant to let go of her, but Skye's already dismal enthusiasm for welcome back hugs was draining, and she still had another sister to greet.

Batty ran into Skye's arms. Skye squeezed her back and looked over the top of her head to give Alec a small smile. Tears finally welled up in Skye's eyes while she looked into his face. Jeffrey did look an awful lot like his father.

"I'm happy you're safe, Skye," Alec said quietly.

Skye wiped her tears from her face and took a step back from Batty. She opened her mouth to tell him something, but she looked around at everyone else in the hallway and decided against it.

Mrs. Tifton was the only person who didn't move to welcome Skye. She hung back several feet from the rest of them, hidden in the shadow of a large potted plant. Rosalind felt a twinge of indignation, but she reminded herself that for Mrs. Tifton (who had never had any sort of positive interaction with Skye whatsoever), Skye's return would only be a brutal reminder that Jeffrey was gone. Skye was a blue and black representation of what he was still going through. And Rosalind was well aware that for Jeffrey, likely it would be worse.

Skye had noticed Mrs. Tifton and she turned to address her. She spoke calmly and resolutely, without any real emotion at all. "You don't seem thrilled to see me."

Mrs. Tifton jumped and stepped forward so she was less obviously hiding. She fumbled for an explanation. "Well, I—"

"I'm glad," said Skye. "You shouldn't be, not while I'm alone." She rubbed her nose with the back of her hand. She looked back at the rest of the group. "None you should." She stared them down, daring them to argue with her.

Rosalind could see it so, so clearly: the love Skye had for Jeffrey was painted across her face. What type of love that was, Rosalind didn't know, but love in some form was absolutely there. It had been buried for so long, hidden underneath petty animosity and bitterness; now it shone twice as bright, amplified by how much she hurt for him. It ripped Rosalind's heart cleanly into pieces. She'd started crying harder, and it caught Tommy's attention. He put an arm around her and she burrowed herself into his chest. He rubbed his hand gently over her lower back until for the time being, her tears stopped.

"Skye?" Mrs. Tifton finally said. Skye glanced over her shoulder at her. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I married him."

"Me too," said Skye. There was no resentment behind her words.

It was obvious that Mrs. Tifton didn't know what to do with that. She tugged on the ends of her hair and said nothing. She looked a little afraid. She probably thought that Skye would lash out at her. She probably thought that she deserved it.

Skye didn't have the energy to lash out at anyone. She looked like she hardly had the energy to talk at all. She walked past Mrs. Tifton and headed for the grand staircase. Rosalind followed after her. Skye heard her footsteps and stopped and the base of the stairs.

"Don't follow me," she said, still facing away. "I need to be alone."

"But—" Rosalind started to protest. It couldn't be healthy for Skye to isolate herself.

"Please, Rosalind," said Skye. "Let me do what I want. I haven't for days."

Rosalind shut her mouth. How could she argue with that? Her heart ached as Skye stumbled up the stairs. She had to lean heavily on the railing and take it one step at a time so she wouldn't fall. Once Skye was out of sight, Rosalind spun back to look at her family, crying once more. Everyone was crying, even Mrs. Tifton. Rosalind realized that she wanted to be alone just like Skye did. Her family couldn't make her feel any better, not when they were just as upset as she was.

"I'm going to bed too," she said. She hoped when she woke up in the morning she would feel at least a little better. "Good night."

Tommy followed her up to her room after only a minute or so.

"Can I come in?" He asked from the doorway.

Rosalind nodded and slid under the comforter on her bed. She wasn't actually ready to sleep, she just needed a break from her family. The only Penderwick she wanted to be around was Skye.

Tommy dragged the desk chair over so he could sit at the side of the bed. He leaned forward so that his forearms were draped over his knees. "How are you feeling?"

Rosalind sat up. "Honestly? Not much better. I'm so worried about her."

"She'll make it through this," said Tommy. It was empty reassurance. He couldn't possibly know that.

"What happened?" Rosalind was afraid to ask.

"Nick got a DM from Dexter that told us where to find her."

Rosalind already knew that. He'd told her as much, and so had her father. "Why didn't you tell me where you were going? I would have gone with you."

"Because I thought it meant Skye was dead," said Tommy. "And I didn't want you to think that too. Not unless we had proof."

That was annoyingly considerate. He knew her too well. He'd saved her from hours of additional panic.

"How bad was it?" Rosalind amended her question. "When you found her?"

"Better than finding her dead, that's for sure."

"Have you seen her? Is the rest of her as bad as her face?"

"I didn't pay attention." That was a lie. Tommy had never been able to successfully lie to her.

"Well was she tied up? Did she still have her clothes?" She pressed him.

"Rosalind, I can't talk to you about this."

"So she didn't."

"What?"

"Have her clothes," said Rosalind. "You'd tell me if she did."

Tommy flushed an angry pink, and Rosalind's heart sank like a heavy stone tossed into a lake.

"Oh my god," she said, somewhat shrilly. "He really raped her, didn't he?"

She'd thought about the possibility of that before, but she'd always shoved it away. Tommy seemed ready to kill something. It confirmed her fears, even if he wouldn't say it.

"Okay look," Tommy said with a sigh. "I don't know what happened to her. She didn't tell me. And what I do know, I promised her I wouldn't talk about, so I won't. I'm sorry."

It was bad, then. Really bad. Rosalind wanted to be annoyed with Tommy, but she wasn't capable of it. He was too honorable to betray Skye and that was not something to be irritated about. That was admirable. He was probably doing her a kindness anyway. Nothing good would come from hearing the details. It would only further upset her.

"No, I'm sorry," said Rosalind. "I'm putting you in a bad situation." She directed her worries elsewhere. "I'm terrified that Jeffrey won't come back."

"He will."

"But what if he doesn't? What do we do then?"

Tommy didn't have an answer for her. He silently played with a stray thread on her comforter.

"We'll lose her too, if he dies. Skye. She won't recover from that."

"He'll come back," said Tommy. "He has to."

Rosalind desperately wished she believed him. Because losing Jeffrey would be impossible enough to deal with, but watching Skye suffer through that? On top of everything else? Rosalind couldn't do it. She'd probably slip away too. It hurt her enough knowing how guilty Skye felt already. It wasn't like it had been discussed, but Rosalind knew her sister. Skye was hating herself for fighting with Jeffrey so much and for pushing him away.

"I've been thinking," said Rosalind. She stopped to better figure out what she was trying to say. "Jeffrey is Skye's best friend. She probably loves him more than anybody."

"Probably, yeah," Tommy agreed. He looked confused about where Rosalind was going with that. To be fair, Rosalind was a bit confused herself. Her thoughts were jumbled and difficult to sort through.

"But they've been fighting and not talking to each other and acting like they had all the time in the world," she said. Her pulse raced and she could feel herself beginning to blush. "But they didn't. And now they might not get to make up for that."

"Rosy, what are you talking about?"

"I don't want to make the same mistake," said Rosalind. "Because you're my best friend, Tommy. I don't want to risk getting caught in a situation like that, where I'm counting our lost time."

Tommy snapped his gaze up to hers, beginning to understand. Rosalind's face fully reddened, but she didn't stop herself.

"Can I kiss you?" she asked. "Would that be weird?"

The slightest of smiles danced across Tommy's lips, enticing her.

"You can always kiss me," said Tommy.

So she did. She grabbed his hand and dragged him into the bed with her so she could kiss him properly. He nearly jumped on top of her, just hungry for her as she was for him. It was a soft, innocent sort of kiss – the kind that goes on for a while but still isn't quite sensual. She absolutely adored the taste of him. She'd forgotten that, just as she'd forgotten how perfectly his mouth fit with hers.

When they finally broke apart, Rosalind sheepishly smiled up at him. She still felt him on her lips. "Not always. You didn't let me when I was drunk."

Tommy attempted to laugh, but he was too out of breath to really succeed at it. "So you do remember."

Rosalind shook her head. "Jane told me."

"I'll put it this way, then: kiss me anytime you won't regret it in the morning."

"Okay deal," said Rosalind. "Because this I won't regret."

"Promise?" He teased.

Rosalind didn't even answer, she just pulled him down to kiss him a second time. She couldn't help herself; he was addicting. Kissing Tommy again was what Rosalind imagined the first taste of a drug was like at the start of a relapse. The high she got from him hit her twice as hard. It made her world spin and her heart race. Except Tommy wasn't a drug, he was her saving grace.

"I meant it, by the way. What I said that night," she said.

Tommy grinned at her and she almost passed out. She was mesmerized by his mouth. "I love you too, Rosalind."

Happy to remind herself what a colossal idiot she'd been about Tommy, Rosalind pressed her lips to his, and for the first time in days, her worry melted away into nothing.


	29. Chapter 29

Skye found herself in Jeffrey's room, which didn't surprise her in the slightest. In some ways, it had been a poor choice. She could feel the ghost of him everywhere. She practically saw him in front of her. Every corner of the room haunted her. Friday night played over and over in her head, when they'd been laughing and messing around before the arguing. Before Dexter. Looking at his bed, she could clearly see him toppling off of it as he tried to escape her tickling fingers. The memory felt almost tangible, like she could reach out and touch him.

A navy blue Julliard sweatshirt was wadded up at the foot of the bed. Skye flattened it out and ran the sleeve through her fingers. She wondered if Dexter had gone after Jeffrey's hands again. Thoughts of Jeffrey's finger caught between shears flashed across her mind, making her gasp. She spun around to look at the piano against the opposite wall. Tears splashed down her face. She dabbed at her cheeks with the hood of the sweatshirt, then pulled it over her head. It was delightfully big on her. She dragged the sleeves over her hands and balled them up in her fists. She glanced at herself in the mirror. She seemed small and insecure (exactly how she felt), but she liked the way it looked it on her.

Skye sat at the piano. They'd always looked so intimidating to her, even the smaller ones, but Jeffrey's just felt downright threatening. It taunted her mercilessly about what she might lose, and about what Jeffrey might lose.

The first time she'd heard him play piano had been in this room. She smiled a little as she remembered the way that his face had lit up with pride when she and Jane had praised him. It only lasted a second, then her lips tugged down again until her smile was gone. She poked one hand out of a sleeve and ran her fingers down the keys. She never had before, but right then she hated the sound of a piano. It wasn't because she couldn't play it; each individual note grated against her ears. That wouldn't change unless it was Jeffrey at the bench. Batty would have to find a new hobby.

A rush of emotion surged up from inside her chest. She propped her elbows up on the piano keys so she could hide her face in her hands. She sobbed only three times before she went quiet again. She still wanted to cry, but it was trapped in her throat. Her eyes pricked with tears, but none fell. She folded her arms and rested her head on her elbows, eliciting several more clashing notes from the piano. Her skin was pinched between a few of the keys, but she didn't move. For every memory of Dexter hurting Jeffrey that bounced around in her head, Skye fought back with a memory that she loved. It didn't make her feel better, it only reminded her of everything wrong with her world. It was insane how a life so perfect could implode so fast.

There was a sharp knock on Jeffrey's bedroom door. Skye jumped and fell from the piano stool. She'd just righted herself when Mrs. Tifton took a step inside holding a bowl of food. Skye folded her arms across her chest awkwardly. Mrs. Tifton scanned the room, looking like she was overtaken by memories herself.

"I thought I might find you here," she said after a while. "I couldn't bring myself to come up until now."

Skye nodded once in curt acknowledgement. She pulled Jeffrey's sweatshirt tight around her and sat back on the piano stool, still facing Mrs. Tifton.

"I brought this for you," said Mrs. Tifton. She set the bowl on top of Jeffrey's dresser. She didn't seem to want to take an additional step into his room.

"I'm not hungry." Skye actually thought that she might be, but she didn't want food. It made her nauseous just to think about.

"Eat anyway."

Skye only shrugged. She wondered what part of "leave me alone" hadn't resonated with Mrs. Tifton. Skye could see that she was searching hard for the right thing to say to her. She lingered in the doorway, fidgeting.

"Whatever you're here to say, don't," said Skye before she could figure it out.

Mrs. Tifton didn't want to listen to her. "I know you were protecting him," she said. "Thank you."

"Stop!" said Skye, irritated. "That doesn't matter. It meant nothing." Her voice rose a little bit, but it wasn't Mrs. Tifton she wanted to yell at. It was herself. "I told him he wouldn't go through that alone, but now I am here, he isn't, and he's fucking alone! I saved him from nothing. I _tried_ to protect him and I failed. Do not thank me for that."

Mrs. Tifton was silent. Her eyes were wide, and she looked like she might want to say something, but she refrained. Skye turned her back on her. She leaned her chin on her hand and stared at the sheet music in front of her like she had even the slightest clue what it meant.

"Can you please go?" she said as her voice broke. "I can't do this right now."

Skye thought she might have left, but after a few minutes Mrs. Tifton quietly said, "I am so, so sorry this happened to you. You were in my home, and De—" She sucked in a sharp breath. "He was my husband. This is my fault. I'm sorry for whatever he did to you."

Skye started to cry. She held back the sniffling sobs so that Mrs. Tifton would hear them, but she shook as her tears ran through her fingers. She knew Mrs. Tifton saw it. Skye didn't move. She didn't need her guilt.

The door clicked shut. Skye glanced over her shoulder. Mrs. Tifton was gone. Alone again, Skye let herself cry, but her tears soon slowed and she was left feeling achy and empty. She looked over at the food Mrs. Tifton had brought her. Her stomach was twisted into knots, but she probably should eat something. Her McDonald's breakfast was a distant memory, and she had refused food the entire drive back from the hospital. It was just pasta. She could force down a couple bites. Reluctantly, she crossed over to the dresser and took down her dinner. She stabbed only two noodles onto her fork and stared at them hatefully before she ate them.

The exact moment she swallowed she knew that her bite was coming directly back up. She tried to fight it, but she couldn't stop it. She clapped her hand over her mouth and barged into the bathroom. She couldn't quite make it the additional steps to the toilet, so she threw up in the sink. Almost everything that came up was water, and it didn't take long for her to empty her stomach, though she continued to wretch. Her sobs returned in the middle of her dry heaving. Her throat closed as it tried to expel more from her empty stomach. She wheezed and choked, unable to breathe. She pictured herself suffocating on her own vomit. Wouldn't that be ironic? A trickle of stomach acid finally squeezed up her esophagus and dribbled from her mouth. She took several gasping breaths that soon melted back into sobbing. She lost all strength in her legs. Her hands slipped away from the countertop and she stumbled to the floor.

She couldn't pick herself up, so instead she crawled over to the bathtub and turned on the shower. She shed her clothes and climbed inside. She sat on the floor of the shower and let the water pelt her face, mixing in with her steadily falling tears. She sat still for a long time. She was having trouble warding off thoughts of Dexter. She flinched every time she saw him striking Jeffrey again. Those were the most vivid memories she had. She hugged her knees tightly to her chest, remembering the way he'd felt on top of her, and how Jeffrey had fought so hard to try to help her.

When she finally moved to wash herself off, dirt and blood poured off of her and stained the rim of the tub. She scrubbed at her herself a thousand times over to rid her skin of all traces of Dexter, but it didn't matter how much she cleaned herself, that would never truly leave her. She gave up and plugged the drain to draw herself a bath. She leaned back against the wall of the tub and stared absently at the water pouring out of the faucet. She didn't want to close her eyes; if she did, she would too clearly see a golf club swinging down on Jeffrey's back, his nails being ripped from his fingers. She saw it well enough already.

So intent was she on blocking out such horrendous thoughts, she didn't notice when the water filled the tub and spilled down the sides of it. It spread across the floor and soaked into the carpet on the other side of the door. Skye was more than content to lay mindlessly in the hot water, likely over an hour would've passed before she noticed her mess if it hadn't been for Jane.

After much deliberation, Jane had decided to go after Skye. She'd said she wanted to be alone, Jane realized that, but she had to check on her. If Skye shouted at her, she would leave. Jane knew where she'd find her. There was no part of her that doubted if her sister would be in Jeffrey's room. She was briefly confused when she entered and she didn't see Skye, but then she heard the water running in the bathroom. Jane hovered in the doorway and wondered if this was a sign that she should leave Skye be.

Then she noticed the water seeping underneath the bathroom door. She crossed the room, and the carpet squished beneath her feet. Water floated on top of it and inched further out into the room with every passing second. Jane pressed her ear to the door, but she heard nothing but the water splashing into the tub.

"Skye?" Jane knocked softly.

No response.

"Skye!" She rattled the handle, but it was locked. She knocked again, louder this time. "SKYE!"

The water shut off. The door opened and Skye stood wrapped in a towel, dripping onto the floor. "I didn't kill myself if that's what you're worried about," she said grouchily.

"You flooded the bathroom. I just thought…" Jane went quiet. She wasn't completely sure what she'd thought and having Skye in front of her was preventing her from working that out. So much more of her was visible, and Jane couldn't think past the ligature marks wrapped around her sister's arms and legs. Her mouth fell open a fraction of an inch.

Skye noticed her staring. "You want to see? Fine," she snapped. She dropped her towel. "You got it."

Jane swayed and braced herself against the doorframe. Tears rushed down her cheeks. Skye was bruised everywhere and covered with cuts and scrapes. Her chest was defaced with what looked like deep bites marks and – Jane covered her mouth so she wouldn't shriek – Dexter's name had been scarred into her ribs. Only when she was confident that were would be no screaming or sobbing, Jane took down her hand. She hoped to say something, but she couldn't think of words.

Skye soon tired of being gawked at. She shouldered roughly past Jane into the rest of the room. It knocked Jane hard into the doorframe. Jane still stared after her, clueless about how to support her.

After a few steps, Skye stopped. She trembled, and Jane realized she was crying. Skye turned and engulfed Jane in a hug, squeezing her until she couldn't quite breathe. Both sisters clung desperately to one another and cried.

"It should have been me," Jane said through all her crying. "I know that. I'm sorry."

Skye leaned back and held Jane at arms' length. "What?"

"You didn't want to come here, but I made you. I should've just gone. It should have been me," Jane wailed miserably.

Skye shook her head. "Shut your fucking face." She hugged Jane again, somehow pulling her in even tighter than before. "No way. You're a weak bitch, Jane. You'd be so dead."

Jane didn't know if she should laugh at that are cry harder. She tried a little of both.

"I didn't think I'd see you again," Jane admitted, realizing the truth of those words as she said them out loud.

Skye just unwrapped herself from Jane and dried her face with the palm of her hand. "Dammit," said Skye, once her breathing had all but returned to a normal pace. "I flooded the bathroom, didn't I?"

"Just a little."

Skye gathered her clothes up from the counter. Jane noticed with a pang that she put on Jeffrey's Julliard sweatshirt. Jane hated how perfect she looked wearing it, like it was made for her and Jeffrey only borrowed it. A week earlier, Jane would have been beyond thrilled to see Skye in his clothes, but now it made her want to shout curses at fate and bash her head into the wall.

Skye laid her towel on the floor to soak up the water, along with two more that she grabbed from inside the cabinet under the sink.

"Don't worry, I'll clean it," said Jane.

Skye wadded up the towels and threw them into the tub, where they landed with a wet thud. The floor was still wet, but she was out of towels. "I got it," she insisted. "Just hand me something."

Jane went to Jeffrey's closet and pulled out a blanket. "How's this?"

Skye took it and wiped up the remaining water. She threw it on top of the towels. She hadn't put her sweatpants on yet, so she laid them out over the soaked carpet to dry it out.

"Good enough."

It was a subpar job at best, proving all the more that Skye was anything but her same old self. She closed the bathroom door behind her and climbed onto Jeffrey's bed. She hid her face in one of his pillows. Jane took a seat next to her.

"I can't do this, Jane," said Skye after a long and heavy silence. "I can't be here when he's not."

"We can go home if you want."

"No." Skye took the pillow from her face and hugged it against her chest. "I mean I can't be free when he isn't. How am I supposed to live with that?"

Jane struggled to find an answer. "I'm sure he's happy that you are."

Skye scoffed. "Don't be stupid." She winced. "Sorry. He doesn't know. Jeffrey thinks I'm dead. At least I think he does."

Of course he did. Jane _was_ stupid. Skye had every right to call her that. She didn't say anything else, afraid she would screw it up again.

Skye abruptly flung herself into a sitting position and chucked a pillow into the closet mirror with an indistinguishable scream of anger. "We talked about him that night," she practically shouted, her chest heaving. "We were literally talking about how Dexter pushed him down the stairs, and I thought that was bad. I was furious, I would have killed Dexter just for that, and now…" She stopped shouting. Her eyes were wild with panic. "He's actually going to murder him." Skye was crying again. "Do you know how many times I've fucking joked about that? And he's really going to do it. He might have already!"

"Skye…"

"I know, I know. I shouldn't think like that," said Skye, falling back onto the bed. "I can't stop. It's all I'm ever thinking. I'm fucking losing my mind. It's gotten worse, I know it has." She lifted her hands to cover her face, but she let them drop after only a second or two. "What's happening to him, Jane?" Skye whispered, as if Jane knew the answer.

Jane had been asking herself that question for days. It didn't matter how hard she tried, it wouldn't stop nagging at her. She'd seen Jeffrey just once, and now looking at Skye, she didn't want to consider how it could have gotten worse. Worse was beyond the scope of even her imagination.

Someone rapped softly on the door, which swung open to emit Batty. Jane heard Skye exhale shortly through her nose. So much for being left alone. Jane did feel a little bad about that, but at the same time, lack of company had led to Skye's watery disaster, so solitude probably wasn't the best thing for her.

"Skye?" Batty asked shyly. "Are you okay?"

Jane looked nervously at her older sister, who was not at all impressed with Batty's question. Jane was worried she would shout at her for asking it, but then Skye's shoulders slumped and her face softened. She sat up against the wall and patted the space next to her. Batty crawled onto the bed and Skye looped her arm around her.

"Yeah Batty," Skye said a little sadly. "I'm okay."

Batty rested her head against Skye. "Is Jeffrey?"

Skye sighed. "Jeffrey…" She played with Batty's hair in a gesture that was so much more like Rosalind that Jane hardly recognized her sister. "Jeffrey will be fine."

The words strangled Skye as she said them, and they made Jane tense and shiver like nails on a chalkboard. It was uncharacteristically sweet of Skye to try and protect Batty's emotions. It warmed Jane's heart just as much as it scared her.

Batty had gone through such a difficult time recently. Even Jeffrey staying away from the Penderwick home had been hard on her. Jeffrey understood Batty in ways the rest of them didn't – he always had. Jane didn't want to think about how losing him would damage Batty. It would damage all of them. Skye was already damaged, it would ruin her.

"Mrs. Tifton doesn't think so," said Batty, scared by that idea. Jane had made the same observation. Mrs. Tifton's last ounce of hope was hanging on by a nearly severed thread. Skye coming back alone had only made that worse.

"Mrs. Tifton?" said Skye. "You all talk to Mrs. Tifton now?"

Jane flinched at Skye's harsh tone. She tried to explain. "We've been around her so much because of all this, and honestly, she's not at bad as we've always thought. I don't know, maybe she is, but she's not right now, and—"

"What are you doing?" Skye interrupted.

"Um…" Jane stuttered nervously.

"Do you think that bothers me?" Skye demanded. "I don't care. Why would I care?"

Jane could think of a few Dexter-related reasons why Skye might care. "You sounded mad," she said. "You still do."

"Of course I'm mad!" Skye snapped. "But not at you. Not at her."

Skye was mad at the whole world. Jane got that, but it was hard to remember when she was being shouted at.

"I know I'm being moody," said Skye. "I think it's just going to be like that a while."

"It's always like that," said Jane with a halfhearted smile.

Skye gave Jane an equally halfhearted smile back. They were quiet after that. Jane took Jeffrey's laptop from his desk. She knew the password, so she logged into Netflix to hunt for something to watch. It was hard to find anything that didn't have some sort of offensive theme. Family, friendship, love – all of that was potentially gravely upsetting. Action was out (there'd been enough violence in their lives) and anything remotely intense or suspenseful was a hard, hard no. Discouraged, Jane switched to Hulu. There, she settled on _Love It or List It._ It bored Jane to tears, but Skye liked interior design. It was the only type of reality television she would watch, and Jane would rather sit through that than a science documentary, which would have been her final, reluctant choice.

It was late (almost four in the morning), and Jane and Batty were asleep before even the first episode had completed. Skye was awake. She should have been exhausted, but the potential for nightmares terrified her, and she would put off sleeping as long as she could. She watched two more episodes before she got restless. Her mind wandered too much. She kept trying to figure out what Jeffrey must be going through and what he must be thinking. She couldn't allow herself to do that.

Careful not to disturb her sleeping sisters, she slipped out of Jeffrey's bed. She left his room entirely. It was dark in the hall; shadows bounced off bookcases and shelves. It made her feel anxious and threatened. She didn't know why she did, but she walked on, flicking all the light switches as she passed them.

It felt weird to be downstairs by herself. It certainly didn't feel safe. She kept her back pressed against the wall as she moved down the hallway, just in case someone was looking to repeat the events of Friday night and attack her from behind.

She'd thought that the whole point of her late night stroll was to keep her thoughts away from Jeffrey and from Dexter, but her feet had other ideas and she ended up in Arundel's kitchen. She should not be doing this. It probably constituted self-harm. Everything came rushing back to her: Dexter's knife under her chin, the look on Jeffrey's face when he'd found her like that, the way that he'd begged Dexter to only take him. She gulped and frantically scanned the room, just to make sure Dexter wasn't there. She knew he wouldn't be, but she had to check for her own peace of mind. Still, it hardly helped calm her.

She needed to clean. She could sense Dexter in the fucking air. She could map out the steps he'd taken across the floor. She rummaged through cabinets for cleaning supplies. Aha! She pulled out buckets of disinfectants, rags, and brushes. Immediately she went to work on the floor. She pulled on rubber gloves and scrubbed at each tile with diluted bleach until it practically sparkled before she moved on to the next.

She was behind the island when she heard movement from the other side of the room. Her heart thudded to a stop. Without thinking, she threw her scrub brush with all her strength in the direction of the noise.

"Okay, ow," someone groaned.

Skye peeked her head over the island. Alec rubbed at his shoulder and bent down to pick the brush up from the floor. Relieved and maybe a little annoyed, Skye stood up, no longer needing to hide.

"I feel like this is yours," said Alec as he set the brush on a barstool.

Skye grabbed it and plopped it into her bucket of bleach and water. "Is the plan for all of you to come bother me one by one?" She grumbled, though she did feel a little guilty. "Would it kill you guys to just leave me alone?"

"Probably," said Alec. "But it's six a.m. I just want breakfast."

"Oh," said Skye. She felt doubly foolish. "Sorry for hitting you."

"It's my fault for sneaking up on you. Good aim, by the way," said Alec. He took a box of cereal from the cupboard, then went for the milk in the fridge. "Do you want any?"

"Sure," said Skye. She hoped she could keep it down.

Alec prepared her a bowl. "Have you slept yet?" He asked as he slid it to her.

Skye shook her head. "I can't."

"I didn't sleep for three days."

Alec didn't pressure her to talk to him, which Skye was greatly appreciative of. She did manage to stomach a few bites of cereal before she started to feel sick. She stopped before she threw up again.

There was one thing bothering her that she felt like she had to mention, even though it would most definitely be better if she didn't. She had to ease her own guilt. She'd almost brought it up when she'd first saw Alec, but she hadn't because everyone else had been with them.

"I need to apologize to you, I think," she said.

Alec's spoon was halfway to his mouth, and he dropped it back down into the bowl. "What? Why?"

"Dexter was mocking Jeffrey, so I said something about you to sort of get him back and…" She waited to see if he knew what she was talking about. Dexter could have been bluffing.

"And he emailed me," Alec finished for her. "I did get that."

"Right. Sorry. I didn't think he would do that."

"That's not on you," said Alec darkly. He curled his right hand into a fist and Skye noticed for the first time that its knuckles were cut up and bruised, like he'd hit something. He rubbed his thumb over them a couple times. "Tell me it wasn't really that bad, and he made it seem worse to get to me."

Skye looked down. She laid her forehead in the palm. She shook her head once. She didn't have the heart to tell him that he hadn't seen the worst of it. She knew that by now, she herself hadn't.

She was afraid to look at Alec, but she did. He had his hand coiled tight around his spoon, and he was grinding the handle into the surface of the island. It was solid stone, however, and the spoon slipped and flew from his hand. It clattered to the floor and he did not pick it up.

Finally, Alec asked, "What did you say to him?"

"Uh," Skye shifted uncomfortably and looked away from him again. She should have expected that question. "I'd rather not tell you."

"Why?"

"It's vulgar, and you're…well, you're Jeffrey's dad." The last thing she'd ever do was explain to Alec that she'd made a comment about Mrs. Tifton sucking him off. The very, very last thing. She cringed a little just thinking about it.

"I see." Alec looked a little awkward himself. "I'm sure Dexter didn't like that."

"No he did not," said Skye with a grimace. That had been such a mistake. "I'm sorry you had to see Jeffrey like that."

Alec nodded and after a period of intense silence, he said, "I'm sorry you had to be there."

"I'm not." She said it without any didn't doubt that at all. She'd go back if she could. She was useless at Arundel; she needed to be with Jeffrey. There was so much more abuse she could still withstand to take for him. She'd take it all again in a damn heartbeat, as many times as it took. No question at all.


	30. Chapter 30

They had the news on again. Every one of them was captivated by it. They weren't looking for updates exactly (they had better ways of getting those), but at least for Batty, it was reassuring to be reminded of everything that was being done for Jeffrey. It seemed like practically the whole country was looking for him.

_"For those of you who have been following the heartbreaking story of the two teenagers stolen from a Massachusetts home on Friday, today we have a happy report for you. Yesterday evening Skye Penderwick checked out of JW Ruby Memorial Hospital in Morgantown, West Virginia and has since reunited with her family."_

A clip of Skye leaving the hospital held by Iantha shown across the screen. The press had crowded around her, but she'd only ignored them as she'd pushed through to the family car.

"I cannot believe they ambushed her like that," Mrs. Tifton said. "Where is their decency?"

"They don't have any," said Batty. She pulled back the blinds to peek out at the reporters camped out on the driveway. One of them saw her and pointed excitedly, so she dropped the blinds in a hurry and stepped away from the window.

_"There is still no word on the whereabouts of Jeffrey Tifton, the second missing teenager, though law enforcement is remaining optimistic."_

A press conference appeared next. SSA Angela Ginsburg addressed a mass of reporters. _"Skye's return was a massive break in the case. We have no evidence to suggest this is a homicide investigation, and we will continue to treat it as an abduction as we search for Jeffrey across southern Connecticut."_

"Homicide" didn't sound like a real word; Batty was having a hard enough time wrapping her head around "abduction." She was starting to freak out. Skye had made everything so much more real.

Iantha came into the room and sat next to Rosalind on the couch. She looked around to find that Skye wasn't there.

"Is Skye still sleeping?" She asked, sounding surprised. It was almost two in the afternoon.

"Yes," said Jane. The sisters had decided together that it was best to let Skye rest as much as she needed to, even if it carried into the evening.

"Where's Daddy?" asked Batty. He was the only other person remaining at Arundel who was missing from the room. A search party had been put together by the Connecticut State Police and Alec, Tommy, and Nick had drove down together to help. The Penderwicks all wanted to stay with Skye, and Alec had persuaded Mrs. Tifton (after much arguing and near shouting) that she shouldn't risk putting herself in Dexter's path.

"He's talking to Alec," Iantha replied. "He's waiting at the station. Apparently they didn't let him participate in the search."

"Why not?" asked Rosalind.

"They don't think it's safe for him," Iantha explained. "Because he's Jeffrey's father and Dexter hates him."

"I told him that," said Mrs. Tifton a little bitterly. "That is _exactly_ what I said, isn't it?"

More or less it was. Mrs. Tifton had agreed not to go, but that hadn't been the end of her argument with Alec. She'd tried just as stubbornly to convince him to stay with her, but he hadn't listened. Mrs. Tifton had fumed about it for almost twenty minutes after he left, but Batty had seen straight through that. She'd been scared.

Heavy, stomping footsteps came up behind Iantha. She stepped to the left, and there was Skye, looking frazzled from bed and not entirely awake.

"It's 1:50," Skye spat angrily. "You let me sleep all morning?"

"You should rest," said Iantha. "You need to recover."

"I'll rest when Jeffrey's here. I want to help look for him." Skye took out her phone and flashed them all an article about the search party for Jeffrey. "You didn't think to tell me about this?"

"Daddy's on the phone with Alec right now. They didn't even allow him to help, they wouldn't have let you," said Jane.

"Fuck them," said Skye. "I don't need permission."

"Yes you do," said Rosalind gently. "But Skye, even if you didn't, you can't really walk. Climbing through the woods wouldn't be a good idea."

Skye was still limping, and she leaned up against what she could to minimize the weight on her legs, but for some reason, Rosalind's statement offended her.

"I can walk. _My_ legs are working, I promise you."

Batty didn't miss the emphasis Skye had put on the word "my." Her insides turned to jelly. She tried not to think too hard about what that must mean.

"I want to be there!" said Skye. "You shouldn't have let me sleep that long."

Rosalind was undeterred; she firmly believed they'd made the right decision, even if Skye was angry about it. "You need rest," she said. "We all think so. We took a vote and—"

"A vote?" Skye interrupted savagely. "We're not a democracy, Rosalind, and you're not the president. That was not your call."

"I'm sorry, but I'm worried about you. I want to make sure you're okay," said Rosalind, only a tad bit defensively.

"Then stop it. All of you, just fucking STOP!" Skye shouted. "I'm fine."

"You're not," Jane meekly disagreed.

"I am. Believe me, this is what fine looks like. I'm okay, and Jeffrey—" Skye's voice cracked. She started breathing in quick, ragged gasps while she tried not to cry. She just barely squeaked out, "He's not fine."

Skye lost it. Batty was stunned. She didn't know what to think. She'd never seen Skye anything like this, not even close. Rosalind tried to hug Skye, but she smacked her away.

"Don't touch me!"

With her back still pinned against the wall, Skye dropped to the floor and sobbed into her hands. She fell away from the wall and lay curled up on her side with her face buried in her arms. No one knew what to do. They all looked at each other, then at Skye. Everyone was on their feet, most crying tears of their own. Skye rolled onto her back and pulled at her hair by its roots. She wasn't even crying anymore; Batty wouldn't call it that. She was screaming. There was more pain in those screams than Batty had ever come close to believing existed in the world. It was the most dramatic display of open emotion she'd seen from anyone, and it was coming from Skye, who had always hid when she was hurting so well.

Batty realized what that meant. Skye didn't think Jeffrey was coming back. If she thought that, he probably wasn't. Jeffrey was Batty's favorite person, she couldn't do life without him. Everything would have to stop. She started bawling, but no one noticed her. Skye's screaming sucked up every drop of attention in the room. It drew Mr. Penderwick in from across the hall. He dropped down beside Skye and pulled her into his arms.

"NO!" Skye shrieked. She fought to get away. She punched at him, but he gathered her tightly to him. "Let go of me. LET GO!"

Mr. Penderwick held on.

"GET OFF ME! Get—" Skye gave up. She went limp and sobbed into her father's chest. He rocked her back and forth while he muttered calming words and stroked at her hair. Skye cried and she cried and she cried. Batty didn't think it would ever stop. Her own tears were still falling fast. When Skye's sobs finally faded, she peered underneath Mr. Penderwick's arm at Mrs. Tifton.

"I'm sorry I left him." She was still crying quietly, and her whisper shook dangerously. "I didn't want to, but Dexter made me. I'm sorry. I should still be there. I abandoned him, I'm so sorry." Skye's speaking morphed into a high pitched, squealing wail and then she was sobbing again.

Mrs. Tifton was stricken. Tears poured down her face and she gaped at Skye in horror. "Oh honey…" was all she managed to say. She collapsed into a chair, wracked with sobs of her own.

Mr. Penderwick kissed Skye's forehead. "Come on, Skye, let's take a walk."

She didn't want to. She shook her head, but she allowed Mr. Penderwick to lift her to her feet. He practically had to carry her from the room. Her sobbing wasn't cut off until they were outside and the door had been shut behind them.

Every person that remained was overwhelmed and stupefied by grief. Batty could hardly believe that had happened. It had come on so suddenly. Skye had been fiery and angry like Batty had always known her to be, and she'd shattered. There were pieces of her that would be lost forever.

Nobody spoke, but they all cried. Jane and Mrs. Tifton sobbed the loudest, but it was Batty who was crying the hardest. She ran from the room.

"Batty, come back," Rosalind called after her. "Batty!"

But Rosalind was crying too, and Batty couldn't be around anyone who was. She'd love to stay away from herself too, if only that were possible. Batty went to the window alcove toward the back of the house. There were no reporters on that side. Mr. Penderwick and Skye must have gone out the same way to avoid them.

Batty climbed into the seat in the window and leaned her head against the glass. She fogged it up when she cried, but she didn't really care to look outside anyway. She'd never known that emotional pain could hurt so much physically. She couldn't stand it, but there nothing she could do to make it go away.

Rosalind soon came after her. She sat next to Batty in the window. Her tears had stopped, but her face was still wet and blotchy. She took Batty's hand. Batty sniffed and sat motionless like Rosalind hadn't joined her at all.

"I wasn't there for you the past few days and I should have been," Rosalind apologized.

This was true; she hadn't been, but Batty didn't hold that against her any. It wouldn't have made a difference if she had.

"Are you alright?" Rosalind asked her, a little anxiously.

Batty only looked at her, then looked back out the window.

Rosalind breathed in a deep sigh. "The police are doing everything to find him," she said. She was just reciting what they'd been told a hundred times over by various law enforcement officials. It was a pointless thing for her to say.

"Jeffrey is dead," said Batty. She sounded dead herself. If he wasn't yet, he would be soon. There was no reason to deny that any longer.

"Don't say that."

"Why not?" Batty asked. She lifted her head from the window. "It's true, or it will be."

"You don't know that. Batty, we can't give up." Rosalind squeezed her hand twice in quick succession. "We got Skye back, didn't we?"

It wasn't the same thing. Skye had always had more of a surviving chance than Jeffrey, and no one had even found her. Dexter had given her back. Batty thought that the comparison was laughable, the two situations were so very different.

"He's gone!" Batty insisted. If she started admitting that, then maybe she could start to move on. Hope wasn't helpful, it was dangerous.

Moving on was a laughable concept as well, however. The pain would never stop. It probably wouldn't even subside. Batty's life would change forever, in more ways than one. She'd spent much of the weekend at the piano to calm her fears. That had to stop. She hated piano. She hated music. She never wanted to hear it again. She would return home and smash every record she owned. She would live out her days in dreary silence, because music was what she shared with Jeffrey. She didn't want it alone. Her music career had started with him, so it would end with him too.

"We haven't lost him yet," Rosalind said. "He'll come back to us. You have to believe in him."

The words made Batty sick. She got up and left Rosalind behind. She could console herself with that nonsense, but Batty wouldn't hear it. She didn't want to be around Rosalind, she couldn't make her feel better. The only person who had the power to do that was Jeffrey, and Jeffrey wasn't there.

* * *

Mr. Penderwick had only been able to calm Skye down after he'd agreed to drive her to the police station that had put together the search for Jeffrey. She knew she wouldn't be able to participate, but she felt better just being in close proximity to it. That way if he was found, she wouldn't be stuck at Arundel, a full two hours away from him. After that, they had all decided to go. She did make an excellent point.

So now every Penderwick and both of Jeffrey's parents were waiting at the Danbury Police Department, where the FBI had centered their investigation. The Geigers were still out looking for Jeffrey in various Connecticut woods, under the direction of supervising agents. They'd been at it for hours, but there was still no sign of him.

The lieutenant, Jeremiah Madison, had allowed Skye to wait in his office so she could avoid being stared and pointed at by people in the waiting room. Jane was with her, and so were Rosalind and Batty. All of the parents were having a long, detailed discussion with Agent Ginsburg. Jane didn't want to know what they were talking about. She kept stealing glances at her father's face, and it never brightened.

"They should let me help," Skye growled for what had to be the thousandth time.

Jane had stopped giving her reasons why she couldn't after only the first few of Skye's complaints. Once Jane had said that Dexter might take her back and Skye had responded with "let him," Jane knew there was no getting Skye to back down.

She was still in Jeffrey's sweatshirt. It was probably the only thing she would wear for a week, even if Jeffrey did turn out to be alright. That is, if the selected definition of "alright" was "not dead."

Skye's breakdown that afternoon had shaken Jane's very soul. When she looked at her sister, she still saw her laying on the floor and screaming like she was dying. That sound would live in Jane's mind forever. Skye hadn't discussed it with them, and none of the sisters wanted to bring it up. They sat in a tense silence that was broken only by Skye's intermittent complaining.

"Sitting here is a waste of time," she said again.

"There is nothing you can do," said Rosalind, finally gathering up the courage to speak to her. She hadn't since Skye had snapped at her earlier in the afternoon. Jane got the idea that Rosalind thought she was to blame for Skye's outburst. It was her comment that had set her off.

"I could try. Waiting around is driving me crazy."

"I understand that," said Rosalind. "I went a little nuts this weekend."

Skye glowered at her. "No you don't. You weren't there."

Rosalind went pale. "I wasn't trying…I'm sorry. You're right. I have no idea what he did to you."

"That too," Skye agreed, but her ferocity was draining. "But I meant that you didn't know how bad it was. I do." She swallowed hard, opened her mouth, and swallowed again. "You don't know what I had to watch. You don't understand at all."

"Help me to," Rosalind whispered.

Skye twisted herself around to face Rosalind, sitting crisscross on the floor. "Alright, fine. Picture this: you're in the room, you can't stop it, and someone is beating Tommy half to death."

Rosalind shifted nervously. She glanced down at her phone. Jane didn't know what had happened with them, but it had prompted Rosalind to change her lockscreen back to the photo of her and Tommy that she'd had it set as while they were dating.

 _"Actually_ half to death," Skye said again. Jane didn't know if Skye was trying to be harsh, or if it was truly the only way she knew how to answer. "So that he's practically unconscious. How would you feel then?"

Rosalind's eyes were round with concern and with fright. "I – I can't…I don't know."

"I'm serious. Think about it."

Rosalind shook her head and tears started to flow. "I don't want to."

"Really? You don't want to think about how you'd feel if Tommy had been hit so many times he couldn't stand? Or if someone broke his leg so badly you heard it from across the room?" Skye was shouting. "Tell me how you'd fucking feel, Rosalind!"

Rosalind didn't tell her that. She had no way of knowing.

"What if someone pulled Tommy's nails out in front of your face? What if they strapped him to the floor and tore his back open with a belt or with a fucking club? What would that do to you?"

Rosalind brushed tears from her face. "I don't know," she squeaked.

Skye folded her arms. "When you figure it out, that might give you half an idea about what I'm feeling right now."

"Oh…oh my god, Skye," Rosalind said, horrified beyond measure. "Is all that—"

Skye cut in, "Well it's not hypothetical."

Jane thought back to the gloating video Dexter had sent Alec. If she'd chosen to let herself, she could have fainted for a second time right there.

"I love him," Skye blurted out. She'd stopped shouting. She looked shocked that she'd said that aloud. "You were right. I do."

Jane had waited so long to hear her say those very same words, but they just broke her heart. She wished she'd been wrong. If she had to watch her most unromantic sister lose the love of her life, she would stop believing in happy endings entirely.

"I think I've always secretly known that, but I thought love was stupid and weak so I denied it," Skye continued. She busied herself tying the strings of Jeffrey's sweatshirt together, untying them, and then knotting them again. "But I had it all backwards. I've it figured out now, because…"

Skye didn't seem to want to finish and Jane didn't really want to pressure her, but after a considerable amount of time had passed with no words spoken, Jane said, "Because what?"

Skye untied the sweatshirt strings for the last time, and she let them hang still, though her hands still fidgeted in her lap. "I had to do the strongest thing I've ever done, and the only reason I did it is that I'm in love with Jeffrey."

Jane had always thought that love was beautiful, that it was the greatest thing the world had to offer. Wrong. Love was malicious and cruel. It dangled something tantalizing at you only to use that very same thing to rip out your heart. The tragedy of that was bullshit. Love was such a scam.

With a bit of a glare, Skye said, "And don't say that's romantic or tragic, or tragically romantic."

"I wasn't," Jane lied. It was the most tragically romantic thing she'd ever heard. "I was just going to say make sure you tell him that when you see him."

Batty, who had been silent and uninvolved up until now, scoffed through her nose. Rosalind had told Jane that Batty had lost hope. It made it harder for Jane to hold onto it herself, but she clung to what was left. It was the only thing keeping her afloat, without it she would drown in despair.

"I should have told him already," Skye mumbled. "I'm such an idiot. Why didn't I tell him?"

She was asking herself, not any of her sisters. Jane wouldn't have had an answer for her if she had been looking for one. Still, she was certain Skye was being too hard on herself for it. Whatever her reason had been for keeping quiet about it, Jane didn't blame her, and if Jeffrey knew, he wouldn't either.

The atmosphere in the room was increasingly depressing. There wasn't anything to be said that could make Skye's revelation less of a heartbreak. Skye changed the subject, not wanting to dwell on that subject any longer.

"Rosy, what did you mean when you said you went kind of nuts?"

For once, Rosalind was all too happy to discuss those questionable choices. Skye actually laughed when she told her about barging in on Nick in the shower. Jane hadn't been sure she'd see Skye laugh again, but the conversation stayed so relatively lighthearted that they were almost able to distract themselves.

Then Iantha joined them in the office. Everything shifted at once. She had a grave look on her face, but not the kind that meant she was bearing bad news, just big news.

"They got him."

Skye jumped to her feet. "Jeffrey?"

Iantha shook her head. She looked somewhat stunned. "Dexter."


	31. Chapter 31

"WHAT?" All four sisters shouted in perfect unison.

Iantha nodded.

"When?" asked Rosalind.

The anger that was filling up inside Skye made her almost forget to listen to Iantha's reply.

"About thirty minutes ago. The FBI picked him up at a gas station. They're bringing him in right now."

Skye spun around to look through the office window. Sure enough, there was quite a commotion as agents and officers cleared the way. Several came out to watch him pass. Mrs. Tifton, Alec, and Mr. Penderwick were quickly ushered into another room.

And then there he was. Two agents in blue FBI windbreakers led Dexter through the hall. His hands were cuffed behind him, and the agents had a tight grip on each of his arms. He didn't even have the decency to look upset about getting caught. He was still fucking smug.

Skye started for the door. She couldn't see straight. She was so angry, everything was blurry except for Dexter. She didn't think about if she was making a smart choice (she most certainly wasn't); she just acted. She had to confront him. Jane grabbed her arm to stop her, but Skye flung it out of her hands. Her elbow caught Jane in the mouth and she stumbled back, whimpering. No one else interfered.

Skye planted herself in Dexter's path. She was surprised by how little he intimidated her. Sure, he was in handcuffs and surrounded by law enforcement. There was no way he could touch her, but that wasn't the reason. She was simply too furious to be afraid of him. He grinned when he saw her. The two agents pulled him a couple steps back from Skye. They tightened their grip on his arms, and the agent on the left put a hand on the gun holstered at his waist.

"Where is he?" Skye demanded, though he wouldn't tell her.

Dexter's smirk was his only response.

Skye stepped closer to him. She felt a little dangerous. "What did you do to him?"

Dexter gave a short laugh. "He'll be dead by the morning."

Skye shoved him. He tripped and might have fallen if it hadn't been for the agents holding him up. "WHERE IS HE?"

Disgustingly coy, Dexter replied, "In the same place as before."

"We'll find him," Skye promised. She wished she was as certain of that as she sounded.

"Better hurry," said Dexter as he flashed her all of his teeth. "You don't have much time."

"You should have killed me," said Skye. It almost bothered her that he hadn't. It didn't make any sense. It had gotten him arrested.

"Oh please," said Dexter, rolling his eyes. "I'm not monster."

Dumbfounded, Skye only stared at him, openmouthed with her eyebrows furrowed. He knew that he was, he'd said it on purpose. The pleased expression on his face told her that much.

"That's enough," one of the agents snarled at him.

Skye stepped aside. She had nothing left to say to him.

When Dexter was led past her, he looked over his shoulder and said, "Thinking about your cunt is going to get me through prison."

Skye felt her face turn beet red. For the second time that afternoon, she acted on reflex, completely without thought. She grabbed at the nearest thing she could reach – a stapler. She threw it at him. It bounced off the back of Dexter's neck. He stumbled, then looked at her with another smirk.

"Enjoy that before you get fucking killed," Skye spat.

Dexter was dragged around the corner and out of sight. Skye watched him go, breathing hard. She ran both of her hands through her hair and then turned to go back into the office. Her father was standing a few feet back from her. He was just as red as Skye knew that she was. Her heart dropped to the pit of her stomach like it had suddenly become an anvil. It almost knocked her off her feet. She swung her head back toward Dexter before she locked eyes with her father again. She moved so fast her hair whipped across her face. There was no way Mr. Penderwick hadn't heard.

In fact, it seemed that the entire building had heard it. Everyone was looking at her. Skye searched for the faces of the rest of her family. Rosalind and Iantha were crying, and Jane – well, Jane had probably already known (Skye had shown her more than a few marks suggesting rape). That didn't make her sister look any less traumatized. Batty looked frightened, but confused. Across the hall, Mrs. Tifton had both her hands over her mouth in a display of deep distress. Alec wasn't looking at Skye. He was staring after Dexter like he was contemplating killing him right there in the middle of the police department.

It was too much. Skye was overwhelmed. Her eyes found the path to the exit, and without a word to anyone, she sprinted from the station. She had to knock an officer out of her way, but she kept running until she had made it outside. She was out of breath, but she kept her breathing steady and shallow. It burned her lungs, but if she gasped for air, she would dissolve into panic. She sat on the curb and lay her face against her knees. She watched the cars passing by on a nearby street and tried to pretend that her dreadful secret hadn't just been exposed in front of everyone. It probably hadn't been much of a secret (it was easy to guess), but Skye had held onto the belief that it was. She felt less ashamed that way.

The sun was starting to go down. That meant that it already had to be around eight. "He'll be dead by morning," Dexter had said. Assuming he was right – and likely he was – that gave them maybe twelve hours to find Jeffrey, if they were lucky. He'd been so weak already when Skye had last seen him. That had been almost three days earlier. That meant Jeffrey had suffered nearly twice as long as she had. Had Dexter fed him anything? She had severe doubts. Jeffrey probably hadn't eaten anything for something like five days. Skye didn't want to think about the shape Dexter must have left him in.

Someone approached behind her. She kept staring at the cars driving past like there was nothing wrong with the world. For those people, there wasn't. Maybe they'd seen the story on the news, and maybe they'd thought briefly about how sad it was, but then they'd moved on with their lives and forgotten about it. Skye thought that was brutally unfair.

Mr. Penderwick sat next to her on the curb. Skye lifted her head and instead stared straight forward into the parking lot. Mr. Penderwicks stared with her. He didn't say anything, but she could hear him crying. Skye wasn't. She was done with tears. She'd dried them out earlier in the day. Her pain was constant now. It never left her, so there was nothing that could make her cry.

"I'm sorry, Daddy," she said. She was emotionless, so stoic she felt like a robot – if robots were filled with internalized, emotional torture. "I didn't mean for you to find out that way."

"Don't say you're sorry, Skye," Mr. Penderwick whispered. "Don't ever say you're sorry."

She was. She felt like a burden. Her father was exhausted and broken down, and it was entirely because of her. She wouldn't go so far as to say that it was her fault, but Mr. Penderwick was hurting too much for her. It killed her to see it, but it made her love him even more.

She leaned her head against his shoulder and he put his arm around her. They sat in silence while Mr. Penderwick still cried and Skye still remained aggressively dry-eyed. They didn't move until the sun went down.

* * *

Nothing had been said since Mr. Penderwick had followed Skye outside. Mrs. Tifton had wandered into the office to join the remaining Penderwicks. Alec trailed close behind her, but no words were exchanged upon their entrance. Everyone was in shock.

It wasn't like Rosalind hadn't known. Tommy might not have explicitly told her, but she'd guessed it and he hadn't denied it. That had been different. It wasn't like hearing Dexter taunting Skye about it, or like seeing the look on her sister's face. Rosalind could no longer tell herself that perhaps she was wrong. There was absolutely no question about it now. Her sister had been raped.

Batty was the one who finally broke the silence. "Rosalind? What does that word mean?"

Rosalind snapped out of her daze. "What?"

"Cunt."

Rosalind felt an iron fist close around her heart, preparing to crush it. "It's a bad word, Batty. Don't say it."

She hoped Batty would let her leave it at that, but it appeared that luck was not on her side that evening.

"But what does it mean?"

Mrs. Tifton exhaled sharply and Rosalind could hear Jane whimpering behind her. She looked around, begging for assistance, but no one had any help to offer her. With a trembling breath, Rosalind said, "It means that Dexter really hurt Skye. More than we thought."

Batty wasn't satisfied with that answer, but Rosalind wouldn't supply her with anymore details. The silence that followed was even heavier than the first.

"How long have they been out there?" Jane asked, addressing no one in particular. She was staring after Skye and Mr. Penderwick.

Rosalind didn't know. A long time. It was dark outside now.

"They paraded him right in front of her," said Iantha darkly. "What the hell were they thinking?"

"Did you see the way he looked at her?" said Jane.

Rosalind had seen it. He'd looked at Skye like he thought she was delicious. If he'd been capable he would've pounced on her then and there. Rosalind couldn't stop thinking about eleven year old Skye sitting at the same table as Dexter Dupree, so completely unaware of what he would one day do to her.

Agent Ginsburg knocked lightly on the door to announce her arrival. "Mrs. Tifton, may I speak to you privately?" She was dreadfully serious.

Mrs. Tifton went white. "Oh god," she whispered. "Please no."

Rosalind knew what she was afraid of. She thought Agent Ginsburg had come to tell her that Jeffrey was dead.

The agent realized what she had implied. "Oh! No, as far as we know, Jeffrey is still alive. I want to talk about something else."

Some of the color returned to Mrs. Tifton's face, though she straightened stiffly. "We can talk here."

Agent Ginsburg didn't argue with her. She stepped completely into the office and shut the door behind her. She looked around at everyone before her eyes settled again on Mrs. Tifton.

"He's not cooperating," she said. "We've offered him a plea deal to bargain for Jeffrey's location, but he won't give it up."

Alec muttered something under his breath that Rosalind couldn't quite hear. She didn't need to. She knew how Alec felt.

"We have an idea," said Agent Ginsburg. She looked a bit uncomfortable. "We think he might give it to you."

"I'm sorry?" said Mrs. Tifton, certain she had misheard.

The agent nodded. "Or at the very least, seeing you could make him more willing to work with us. We would like you to speak with him, if you're up for that."

Alec stepped up before Mrs. Tifton could reply. "No," he told the agent firmly. He looked to Mrs. Tifton. "Brenda, you can't do that."

Mrs. Tifton's eyebrows raised in indignation. "It's not your decision, is it?"

"He's a r—" Alec stopped himself from undoubtedly calling Dexter a rapist. "I don't want you in the same room as him."

Mrs. Tifton wouldn't meet Alec's eyes. "I introduced him to Jeffrey." She glanced at the Penderwicks. "And to Skye. I don't have a choice."

She really had become such a different person. Without Jeffrey, she was lost. He had turned his mother's life around. Rosalind didn't think Jeffrey knew just how much of Mrs. Tifton's world he occupied. She crumbled at the prospect of losing him. Rosalind thought of how Skye had fallen apart; she thought of Batty. Jeffrey held that power over a lot of people.

"I have to at least try," said Mrs. Tifton. She did look a little green at the thought of conversing with Dexter. "He said Jeffrey will die by the morning."

Alec flinched back from the bitter reminder. "I heard him."

"So you know that I have to."

Reluctantly, Alec nodded. The corner of his mouth twitched with anger. Rosalind was tempted to give him a hug.

"Thank you," Agent Ginsburg said to Mrs. Tifton. "We really do think this will help. I wouldn't ask you if we didn't."

Now that it was decided, Mrs. Tifton looked frightened. She glanced at Alec nervously. He almost moved to go to her, but he stopped and stood where he was.

"What am I supposed to say to him?" asked Mrs. Tifton.

"Agent Miller is outside of the interrogation room ready to brief you," replied Agent Ginsburg. "He's excellent. We won't send you in there until you've been fully prepared."

Mrs. Tifton took a deep breath and wrung her hands. When she left with Agent Ginsburg, it was hard to watch her go. How unfair was it that Dexter was being handed just what he wanted? He'd been given access both to Skye and to Mrs. Tifton. Rosalind wanted to scream. Alec looked like he was in physical pain. Rosalind had criticized Jane for saying…what was it? That they were rediscovering their love for each other? She was starting to think that maybe her sister had been right. Maybe Alec had never stopped loving Mrs. Tifton at all. Rosalind didn't understand how that was possible, but it was beginning to seem more and more likely.

"We've all been wrong. She's a great mother," said Rosalind. She hoped to reassure Alec in some form or another. "This proves that."

"I know," said Alec.

Rosalind felt guilty about underestimating her (though not about disliking her – Mrs. Tifton had been awful). It had never been greatness or even strength she had seen in Mrs. Tifton.

She returned after barely forty minutes, much sooner than Rosalind had expected. It had not gone well. Mrs. Tifton could be heard shouting before she could be seen.

"Don't chastise me, agent. That was your fault. I couldn't help myself. You did not prepare me for that!"

When she came into view, Agent Ginsburg was close on her heels, grim but patient. Alec stepped out of the office. He cautiously approached Mrs. Tifton, and she looked at him wildly as she fought back tears. He reached for her hand, but when his fingers brushed over hers, she released a short cry of pain and pulled away.

"What is it?" Alec asked, concerned.

Mrs. Tifton examined her hand. "I hit him," she spat.

"We had to cut the conversation short before things became too hostile," Agent Ginsburg further explained. "They got a bit out of hand."

Mrs. Tifton eyed the agent with an anger so intense it was almost hatred. "Fuck you. You heard what he said to me."

Agent Ginsburg did look sympathetic, maybe even apologetic. "I did. Believe me, I'm not trying to say I don't understand your reaction," she said gently. Likely she was accustomed to being cursed at by grieving families. "You still helped. We're going to get your son back."

Mrs. Tifton almost shook her head. "Don't lie to me."

Agent Ginsburg gave her a sad smile. "Thank you for your help today. We'll keep you updated."

When the agent had left them alone, Alec and Mrs. Tifton returned to the office. Alec asked the question that was on everyone's mind. "What did he say?"

Mrs. Tifton stared out the window at all the cluttered desks outside. "The worst of it? He asked if I've ever heard Jeffrey scream. I just asked how he could do that to him. Jeffrey never deserved that. He…" She faltered and took a minute to collect herself. She turned away from the window to look at them. "He agreed with me. He said he knew that, but he had fun…he had fun torturing him anyway." Here, Mrs. Tifton's voice got very, very small. "He got Jeffrey to say it. He said he did deserve it."

"He what?!" Skye was back. Rosalind hadn't noticed her before. She'd been too wrapped up in Mrs. Tifton's story.

"He said it took him days to get it out of him, but Jeffrey gave in."

Skye looked panicked, like only the worst pain in the world could have dragged that phrase out of Jeffrey. For a moment, Rosalind thought Skye would either faint or destroy the lieutenant's office in a complete rage. She remembered everything Skye had said Dexter had already done to Jeffrey. She couldn't begin to comprehend how it could have gotten worse. She started to cry.

"That's when I hit him," finished Mrs. Tifton.

"Good," said Skye. She almost said something else, but then she only repeated herself and lapsed into a fretful silence. She looked sickly with worry. She had hardly eaten since she'd returned. Rosalind doubted she'd slept very well, even if she had been in bed until the afternoon. Alec had said he'd talked with Skye until almost eight that morning. She was so pale it accented the bruising on her face. She looked like she'd come back from the dead.

Rosalind could understand her sister's panic better now. She was worried about Jeffrey herself, and she loved him in her own way, but it was different for Skye. She'd helped Rosalind see that. Skye had told her to picture Tommy in Jeffrey's place, and the truth was, she'd hardly been able to stop. She kept bouncing back and forth between the horror of Tommy theoretically being beaten senseless and that of the reality that Jeffrey actually had been. The more she thought about it, the more she was able to grasp an idea of how much it would break her if even _one_ of the brutal things done to Jeffrey had happened to Tommy. Skye must be out of her mind. She'd seen it all, and now here she was having it confirmed that Jeffrey had only suffered increasingly worse. Rosalind wasn't sure how Skye was keeping herself from falling completely into madness. She had more strength than Rosalind would ever.

The next couple of hours were some of the tensest Rosalind had experienced. They hardly spoke to each other, too petrified by what Mrs. Tifton had told them to think of anything worth talking about. Rosalind watched each minute waste away as the second hand spun around the clock mounted on the wall. Around 10:45, Tommy had returned with Nick with nothing but dismal news about their lack of success. Jeffrey was still nowhere to be found. That had prompted Skye to kick over a chair and scream with a desperate frustration that was still echoing in Rosalind's head almost two and a half hours later.

She'd almost completely lost hope when approaching footsteps drifted in. Everyone stirred and jolted to attention. Agent Ginsburg returned.

"Mrs. Tifton," she said. "It appears that worked. He gave us an address."

"Take me with you," Skye demanded.

Agent Ginsburg didn't seem comfortable with that idea. "It's not wise," she said. "We don't know what we'll find or what shape Jeffrey may be in."

"You mean you don't know if he's dead."

Agent Ginsburg inclined her head.

"I don't care," said Skye. "I'm going. I want to see him either way."


	32. Chapter 32

The address Dexter had given was a little more than twenty minutes away. Twenty fucking minutes. Skye had been that close to him for hours. She recognized the road they had pulled off on. They'd driven past it on the way to the station. They'd driven right past Jeffrey.

The place was a ranch. There was a for sale sign next to the entrance. Once they had crossed under the gate, the road stretched ahead for quite some time before the house came into view. No one was there. Skye didn't think anyone had lived in it for months. Woods extended far behind the empty house. The driver weaved in and out of trees. Skye lurched in her seat as the agent's car rolled over thick roots.

They explored the woods for an additional twenty minutes. Just when Skye was starting to think Dexter had lied to them, the grey shipping container peaked through the trees. Skye threw off her seatbelt. She flung open the door and pitched herself out of the car before it had come to a complete stop. When her feet hit the ground, they were yanked out from under her and she fell onto her back.

"Skye!" Agent Ginsburg hurried out after her. "Are you okay?"

Skye climbed to her feet and started running, but the agent caught her arm and pulled her gently to a stop.

"I can't let you go in there," she said. "My agents need to make sure it's safe."

"You have Dexter!"

"I'm sorry," the agent insisted. "You need to wait."

Skye had never been patient, but that wait would kill her. Another agent – Sanchez, was it? – came up and put his hand on Skye's shoulders in what was probably supposed to be a soothing gesture. Skye shrugged him away, her face hot.

"I can't just stand here."

"I need you to trust me, okay? This is my job," said Agent Ginsburg gently.

Skye wanted to say _well, fuck your credentials, this is my best friend,_ but she didn't. With her heart pounding, she followed the two agents to the edge of the clearing. There was half a dozen other agents closing in, along with a team of paramedics. A helicopter circled overhead, ready to airlift Jeffrey to the hospital. Annoyingly, some reporters had managed to tail them all the way from the police station. A couple of agents were fending them back. Everything was a blur. None of the pieces were fitting into place quite as well as they should have been. It was like the scene was unfolding inside a dream and she would soon wake up and realize that none of it had been real.

The shipping container was still locked with iron chains. Agent Ginsburg and Agent Sanchez stood with Skye while a couple of other agents broke through the padlock after only a brief struggle. When the heavy metal door swung open, it was too dark for Skye too see inside. The moon lit up the clearing, but the shipping container was pitch black.

Agent Ginsburg's radio hummed with static as it came to life.

"We've got him," an agent informed her. "He's…"

The agent probably only paused for less than a second, but to Skye it felt like the entire night had waned away.

"He's alive."

The world turned upside down. Skye's body reacted so physically to those words that she could hardly form a single thought. She lost her balance. She would have fallen if not for Agent Sanchez catching her in his arms and carefully righting her. The relief she felt was more pain than it was pleasure. It was as if her mind was fighting against it, not allowing her to feel happy because it was afraid it would turn out to be a lie.

When she saw him, all the pain left her at once. Two agents practically carried Jeffrey out with his arms draped over their shoulders. Skye could only stare. He looked worse than he had when she'd left him – a lot worse, actually – but she couldn't focus on that. His chest rose and fell aggressively as he struggled to breathe. His broken leg hung limp, but he hopped tentatively on the other. He was hurting; Skye could see that, but hurting meant living. "Living" was the single most important word in the English language.

It was then that Skye realized she really had thought she would never see him again. Now, she could actually comprehend having a full life with him in it, and even still, she struggled to completely believe it was possible. Her heart leapt into her throat. Her eyes stung with tears.

"Jeffrey." She tried to call to him, but her emotions suffocated the strength of her voice and his name drowned at her lips.

He hadn't seen her. He barely kept his head up, just enough to see the ground a couple paces ahead of him.

Skye thought harder about shouting. She put as much power into his name as her voice would allow her. "JEFFREY!"

This time, it carried across the clearing. Jeffrey froze. The agents supporting him dragged him a couple extra steps before they realized that he was resisting. They stopped with him. Jeffrey's eyes found her, and the sight of her face made him almost completely double over in shock. His mouth dropped open. Time stood still as they stared at each other. Skye never wanted to break eye contact with him again. She started to move forward, but Agent Sanchez stopped her.

"The paramedics should look at him first," he said. He was apologetic, but Skye still wanted to punch him.

"It's alright," Agent Ginsburg said.

Agent Sanchez looked surprised.

"Look at his face, Matt," she said, gesturing at Jeffrey. "Let her go to him."

Agent Sanchez stepped out of Skye's way, and she barreled across the clearing. Agents and paramedics alike warned her to be careful, but their words were lost on Skye's ears. Jeffrey flung his arms away from the agents holding him up. Thick bracelets of raw skin and scabs circled his wrists, and the bruising was so dark that at a quick glance, Skye thought he was still wearing chains. He swayed on one foot, but he didn't have to balance for long. Skye threw her herself at him. His good knee buckled and he fell into her precisely when she leaped on him. They toppled to the ground and rolled across the grass, tangled in each other. When the momentum from the fall died away, Skye was on top of Jeffrey. She hugged him to her so tightly it was like she was trying to absorb him into her so they could never again be separated. Slowly, his arms came up and snaked around her. They were weak; they rested loosely against her back like he'd fallen asleep holding her.

"I believed him," said Jeffrey. His voice was gone. He struggled to speak through the raspy, broken remnants of it. The effort made him cough. "He said you were dead, and I really thought—"

"I love you."

Skye's mouth was on Jeffrey's before he'd had anytime to process what she had said. He stiffened and with a surprised gasp, he drew back. He winced and swiped his tongue over his split lip. Skye swore at herself.

"Shit, I wasn't thinking. I'm sorry, did that hurt?"

Jeffrey stared into Skye's face with wide eyes. Then he blinked away his astonishment and a smile tugged at his lips. "Yeah, it did."

Where he found the strength for it, Skye would never know, but he grabbed her neck and pulled her face down to his. He kissed her. Skye didn't bother propping herself up. She lay flat against Jeffrey and cupped the sides of his face with both of her hands. He tangled his fingers in her hair and drew her even closer. Skye would have stayed like that forever. It didn't matter that there were people watching. She would show the world that she was in love with Jeffrey Tifton.

When he pulled away from her, Skye hurt from how badly she wanted him. He brushed his thumb across her mouth. It came away painted with his blood.

"That's really gross," he murmured. "I'm kind of disgusting."

"I don't care." As if she needed to prove it, when Skye kissed him again, she slid her tongue in his mouth. She tasted blood and what she thought might be dirt, but that didn't make her want to pull away. Nothing could do that. The feeling of his lips intoxicated her. It threatened the pieces of her sanity that hadn't been touched by the trauma of the past days. His kiss drove her a different sort of wild. She was obsessed with it.

Jeffrey was intent on making her crazy by denying it from her. Karma. When he broke away, Skye's lips tingled and itched for his again.

A breathy laugh escaped from Jeffrey's throat and tickled Skye's face. "I'm dead, right? That's what's happening. I finally died."

Skye shook her head. "No. You didn't. You're alive, and I—" She couldn't help it. He was too alluring. Finishing her sentence was too long to wait before kissing him again. It wasn't a lengthy kiss; she slid her mouth over his only twice, but it was enough to satisfy her for the time being. "I am so in love with you."

Jeffrey's grin lit up the night sky. Then it was him kissing her. Skye couldn't breathe, but she wasn't complaining. She would never get enough of him.

"Since when?" Jeffrey asked with his lips still on hers. They brushed across Skye's as he formed his words.

Skye didn't pull back any; she spoke into his mouth. "Apparently since always." She'd thought about that a lot. She could trace the start of her feelings back to at least Maine.

"Dammit, Skye." He smiled against her lips. "You're impossible."

"Yeah, that's my bad," she agreed.

He started to kiss her again, but then he was laughing. Once he started, he couldn't stop. Skye flushed with guilty embarrassment, but she laughed along with him. Jeffrey rolled Skye off of him and sat up. His face twisted in pain, but he pulled her into a hug. When Skye hid her face in his neck, she noticed for the first time that it was bruised a sickly dark purple from the base of his chin to the start of his shoulders. Skye pressed her lips to the crook of his neck. Jeffrey's amusement died down when hers did. They were too caught up in the relief of each other's presence to remember why they were laughing.

"I love you, Skye," Jeffrey whispered. When he spoke quietly like that, the damage done to his voice wasn't quite so obvious. He breathed in the scent of Skye's hair and tightened his hold on her.

He was shivering. Skye realized he was wet. His pants were soaked through with freezing water. His hair was cold and plastered to his forehead.

"Jesus, you're shaking," she observed. She rubbed her hands over him to try to warm him up, but he tensed as she brushed over the lacerations in his skin. She stopped, and she ordered herself not to cry. She would eventually, she was well aware of that. The more she looked at him, the closer she would get, but she would not give in just yet.

Jeffrey rested his hands against the sides of her neck. They were like ice. He leaned back to study her face. "I really thought you were dead." His already broken voice cracked at the end of his sentence.

Skye felt a lump rising in her throat. His green eyes were gorgeous, and they did calm her, but she hated looking at his face. She couldn't count the bruises. Both of his eyes were black. There was so much blood, so much swelling. He'd obviously had something tied across his mouth; deep grooves were dug into his skin. His cheeks had been torn by whatever he'd been gagged with. His teeth were stained red. Skye felt guilty about kissing him.

"Hey, Jeffrey," said a man's gentle voice. A paramedic squatted down next to them.

Jeffrey took his hands from Skye's face. "Hi," he wheezed.

Skye's eyes were glued to the heavy bruising around Jeffrey's neck. Rings of ligature marks layered over the full length of his throat. Jeffrey had been strangled to the point of hardly being able to talk. Skye had to bite her tongue so she wouldn't sob. He saw her looking. He touched his hand to his neck, and Skye thought she saw his face redden – though it was hard to tell, it was so discolored already. Skye swallowed back her anger. Jeffrey shouldn't have to feel embarrassed, and Skye shouldn't have to completely understand why he did.

The paramedic smiled a calming, easy smile at them. "Would it be alright if I checked you out a little bit?" he asked Jeffrey. "I'd like to make sure you're okay."

Jeffrey nodded.

The paramedic looked at Skye. "I'll take good care of him, I promise."

Skye reluctantly unwound herself from Jeffrey to give the paramedic space. It killed her to do it. She wanted to hold him forever. Several other paramedics came to help, laden with supplies. They fixed what they could. They taped up the gashes covering his upper body and wrapped his wrists with a cohesive bandage. They splinted his knee and his ankle. Jeffrey was handed a Styrofoam cup and he swished out his mouth a couple of times before he drank from it. When he spit, the water was a concerning reddish brown. He _had_ tasted like dirt. Skye wondered if a gag wasn't the only thing Dexter had put in Jeffrey's mouth.

Jeffrey was helped onto a stretcher. Skye held his hand as it was wheeled over to the red paramedic truck. It was the hand that was now without fingernails. Skye couldn't stop looking at it. Jeffrey held his wrist stick straight. If it twitched or bent at all, he sucked in a sharp breath. He kept a brave face, but Skye knew how much pain he was in. He sat up in the stretcher because both his back and his chest were shredded. Skye felt guilty about laying on him too. He was fragile. How could she have forgotten that?

The press chattered excitedly as Jeffrey was loaded into the truck. Skye climbed in after him.

"We're going to be on national television, aren't we?" said Jeffrey. "This is not what I expected for my fifteen minutes of fame."

"This part's not so bad," Skye said. She brushed her fingers through Jeffrey's hair, then she retook his hand. She leaned over to kiss his forehead, but he lifted his chin and caught her mouth with his.

"You're right. It's not," he said. "I can't decide if this is the worst or the best day of my life."

Just then, the truck lurched forward. The movement strained Jeffrey's broken leg and he cried out. Skye felt a hot tear slide down her face. He exhaled shakily as the pain passed. He looked like he was trying to brace himself against more. The paramedics were keeping a close eye on him, but they had done what they could. He needed a hospital.

Jeffrey set his other hand on Skye's forearm. He played with the fabric of her sleeve. "You're wearing my sweatshirt."

Skye looked down at it. It was stained with ribbons of his blood. The white lettering was covered in stripes of bright red. She shrugged. "You left it on your bed."

A smile teased at Jeffrey's lips. "You sentimental idiot."

"Yeah. Yeah, I think so." She wanted to tell him how much she'd missed him, but that didn't quite sound right. It didn't describe the gaping hole that the thought of losing him had blasted into her entire existence. The panic she'd felt wasn't properly conveyed through _I miss you. I need you,_ maybe, but even that wasn't enough.

Skye wasn't allowed in the helicopter with Jeffrey. There wasn't enough space. She had to pry her fingers away from his like their hands had been glued together. A new panic flared up as she watched them lift him inside.

"Hey," she said as the paramedic started to shut the door. He paused. Skye struggled to sound relaxed. "You better not die on me now, Jeffrey Tifton."

He grinned. The blood was gone from his teeth. "No way," he promised. "You're stuck with me."

The door shut. Skye backed away until she was far enough from the helicopter that it could safely take off. The wind generated from the rotor blades blew her hair back. Tears stung her face as it lifted into the sky and took Jeffrey away from her once again.

* * *

**A/N: That felt so weird to write I've had it outlined in my notes for literally years. It's the only part of this story that hasn't changed from my initial idea. I put off writing it for like three days cause I was scared of disappointing myself haha**


	33. Chapter 33

When Skye walked through the hospital door, five Penderwicks, two Geigers, and both of Jeffrey’s parents were immediately on their feet. Jane jumped out of her chair so quickly it crashed into the wall. She could see her sister trembling from across the room. Before Skye had taken two steps into the building, Jane reached her and wrapped her in a hug.

Skye quivered like the pages of Jane’s books fluttering in a breeze. She didn’t hug Jane back. She stood motionless, in a shellshocked daze.

“He’s…he’s okay.” Skye sounded like the words didn’t quite make sense to her. “But he’s a mess.”

The news had already told Jane both of those things. She’d watched agents carrying a broken, bloody, utterly exhausted Jeffrey from his five-day prison on a hospital tv. Mrs. Tifton had screamed – a genuine, bloodcurdling scream that made Jane’s cells freeze up with instinctual terror.

“I know, I saw. We all did.” It wasn’t meant to make Skye feel any better; it was just honest. Jeffrey was alive, Skye was as happy as she was going to get. Jane could understand nothing about what Skye had been through, but this part she knew well. The joy came first, but it faded just as fast, replaced with a constant, aching worry. There wasn’t a single thing Jane could do to help with that. She wasn’t naïve enough to try.

Skye leaned back, so Jane let her go.

“You saw…” Skye was momentarily confused, then her eyes locked on the television behind Jane’s head. “Oh.”

Jane nodded. “We saw everything.”

Skye’s face reddened to a deep scarlet. “Like, _everything_ everything?”

Jane’s lips pulled into a playful smirk. “You mean did we see you sucking Jeffrey’s soul out his mouth?”

Skye made a face. “Gross, Jane.”

Behind them, Tommy coughed out a laugh.

“It’s called the Dementor’s _Kiss_ for a reason,” Jane said with false innocence. She looked back at Mr. Penderwick. “Sorry, Daddy.”

Their father waved away her apology, his face lit with a teasing smile of his own. In fact, their entire party was donning varying degrees of the same expression. Even Mrs. Tifton didn’t seem particularly displeased.

“Shut up, you guys,” Skye grumbled. “Not another word.”

Nick wolf whistled.

Skye looked ready to throttle him. “You’re not funny, Nick.”

Then quietly, so that only Jane could hear, Skye said, “I told you I love him. I wasn’t lying.”

This time, the words warmed Jane’s heart the way that they should have the first time. She silently apologized to love for being so bitter and pessimistic about it. A momentary (albeit reasonable) lapse in judgment – she was a romantic through and through.

“You don’t need to tell me,” Jane whispered back. “I’ve known that longer than you have.”

Skye punched her arm. “You can shut up too.”

For once, Jane was happy to have Skye hit her. She wanted to linger on the topic of Skye and Jeffrey’s kiss. It was light. Normal. She would her sister about making out on any regular day. But Skye was uneasy with the conversation, and Jane didn’t have the heart to put her through any additional discomfort. Skye deserved a little comfortability. The universe owed her that much.

Jeffrey was in surgery. His broken leg was being operated on. The doctors had talked to Alec and Mrs. Tifton privately, so Jane didn’t know any more than that. They’d seemed worried. Additionally so. Jane had watched both them turn an identical shade of green, then white, then back to green over the course of that conversation. Alec had nervously fidgeted with his keys until they’d abruptly fallen from his hand. It didn’t matter that the doctors were helping him, it didn’t seem fair to Jane that Jeffrey had survived everything he had just to be sliced open and prodded at. Surgery only meant more pain. All Jane wanted was for the suffering to at last be over and done. She sighed. That wish wouldn’t be granted for a long, long time.

As if she’d read Jane’s mind, Skye asked, “Have the doctors said anything?”

All eyes turned on Jeffrey’s parents.

Alec’s mouth was set in a grim line. “Nothing useful.”

“How can you say that?” Mrs. Tifton demanded. There was a sharp edge to her words. “They said he should be dead.”

Alec’s expression turned stormy and angry. “That’s not exactly useful, is it? I don’t want to hear that.”

“And you think I do? You think I want to hear about my son being hurt like that?”

“No, but—”

Mrs. Tifton didn’t let him finish. “But he was. That’s reality. We have to accept that so we can help him.”

“Oh, I’ve accepted it,” said Alec bitterly. “I’m not an idiot. I know he was almost killed. Believe me, I know that better than you do.”

“What is _that_ supposed to mean?”

Skye flinched. She knew what it meant. So did Jane. She wondered how many times Alec had tormented himself by rewatching what Dexter had sent him. She didn’t have a single doubt that he’d looked at it again.

“Nothing,” Alec spat. “I should have known when I met Dexter. I should have fought for custody.”

“For custody?” Mrs. Tifton’s voice was shrill and defensive. “What would that have done? You were an absentee father. No court would have given you anything.”

Skye crossed her arms. Jane thought she might jump to Alec’s defense, but she stayed silent. Jane held her breath, riddled with an anxiety she didn’t totally understand. Maybe she just wasn’t ready to listen to another fight.

Alec glared at Mrs. Tifton in a way that made even Jane want to shrink away into the corner of the room.

“That was not my fault, Brenda.”

Mrs. Tifton sucked her lips into her mouth like she was holding back a retort. Then she said, “So you lied. You are still angry about that.”

Alec threw up his hands in a gesture that clearly said _unbelievable._ “No, I’m not. But don’t _ever_ call me an absentee father.”

Mrs. Tifton muttered something under her breath that Jane couldn’t hear. She didn’t have to know that it wasn’t polite.

“I loved Jeffrey the day that I met him,” said Alec, his voice rising. “I wished I had a son like him before I even knew who he was. Do you think you’d be able to say the same thing?”

It was uniquely interesting for Alec and Jeffrey to know for a fact how well they would get along even if they weren’t related. Alec loved Jeffrey with more than the automatic love a father has for his son merely because he exists. They were best friends. In a weird way, he was blessed by that knowledge.

Mrs. Tifton was less touched by that idea. “How dare you?” she said quietly. Then louder, “How _dare_ you?”

Alec shrugged. He didn’t seem to regret what he said. “I just wonder if Jeffrey had spent more of his time with me if this would have happened at all.”

“Yes, it would have. Alec, he left!” Mrs. Tifton shouted. “He hated Dexter so much he went to boarding school. Boarding school! He already lives in Boston with _you._ I never see him because I married that…that horrible, disgusting…that monster of a man. What else could you possibly want? You already replaced me!”

“That’s not my fault either.”

Mrs. Tifton glowered darkly. “For the love of god, Alec, if you still hate me, just say it. Don’t pretend to care. I never needed that.”

Alec opened his mouth, then shut it when he realized he hadn’t yet thought of what to say. His glare didn’t falter.

Jane took it upon herself to fill the silence. “What is wrong with you two?” She didn’t mean it maliciously. Truly, she was baffled.

“What?” said Alec, as if Jane wasn’t asking a justifiable question.

“You’ve been so good all week. Better than the rest of us. You get Jeffrey back and now you want to kill each other again? Are you serious?”

Alec glanced at Mrs. Tifton out of the corner of his eye. An amused smile played at the sides of his mouth. “What, this? This is nothing.”

Mrs. Tifton looked like she wasn’t quite ready to give up the fight, but she too was gradually winding down. “That’s true,” she admitted grudgingly. Then she too smiled, just a little. It was hardly there. She gestured between herself and Alec. “We know how to fight.”

“Invented it, I think,” said Alec. “I left a few dishes out once and this woman poured a jar of pasta sauce into my saxophone.”

Mrs. Tifton flushed a pale pink. “It was more than a few dishes.”

Alec waved his hand to tell her to be quiet. Jane might have been biased, but she thought it was kind of cute – flirty, like they’d actually stayed married the past seventeen years.

“And then she had the audacity to be angry when I bought a new one.”

Mrs. Tifton straightened up. “Well, I’m sorry. You spent $900 and they shut off our water.”

“You broke it!” Alec was laughing. “And maybe we could have afforded the water bill if you didn’t take a two hour shower every day.”

“Okay what about you?” Mrs. Tifton shot back. “What about the time you dumped your soda down my dress a minute before my marketing presentation? I didn’t have time to change, I was humiliated.”

“That was an accident.”

“Oh no it was not! You said, “that’s for killing Larry.” She looked around at their captivated audience. “Yeah, he named his saxophone _Larry_.”

Alec’s faced flooded with guilty embarrassment. “Did I say that? Damn. Alright, it wasn’t an accident.”

Mrs. Tifton giggled – an actual, schoolgirl giggle. It didn’t suit her. “I yelled at you for hours that night.”

“And I felt vindicated.” Alec snorted. “God, we were children. Who let us get married?”

“We should sue,” said Mrs. Tifton. “For emotional distress.”

Jane was fascinated. They all were. Mr. Penderwick had his arm around Iantha, and the two were shaking with laughter. Nick rolled his eyes, but Jane could tell he was equally entertained.

“How long did you last after that?” asked Rosalind.

“Two weeks?” said Alec, unsure.

“Nine days,” said Mrs. Tifton, quite sure.

“Wait…” said Skye with a light, sarcastic gleam in her eyes. “You really were married? That’s not some ultra-weird alternate reality you’ve both been lying about?”

Mrs. Tifton raised her eyebrows. “Jeffrey had to come from somewhere, didn’t he?”

“I know, but it’s always been a little hard to believe,” said Skye.

“That’s what I said!” Jane backed her up.

“Yeah, who the hell are you?” Skye asked Mrs. Tifton. “Most respectfully of course.”

That made Jane nervous, but Mrs. Tifton actually laughed. She was so relaxed. She seemed normal, just like every average parent that hadn’t grown up a spoiled millionaire. Jane thought it was a good look on her.

“Alec brings out a special side of me. No one else can, not even Jeffrey. I keep it very hidden.”

“Do I?” Alec grinned. _“Interesting.”_

“Wipe that smug look off your face, McGrath. You bring out my vindictive side too.”

“Can’t win them all.” Alec tried to smother his grin, but it was too stubborn. “Poor Larry. Shot down in his prime.”

Mrs. Tifton’s smile slowly faded into a more thoughtful expression. She looked at Alec like she was staring right into his soul and reading his deepest thoughts. Jane made a mental note of that. She liked that image. She could find a place for it in her next book.

“I should have stayed,” said Mrs. Tifton, surprising Jane immensely.

Alec pondered that for a moment. “No. No, you shouldn’t have. You hated that apartment, my dog, my job, my friends—”

“I wasn’t your biggest fan either,” said Mrs. Tifton. “And that was a horrible apartment, I’ll have you know.”

“It was fine,” Alec disagreed.

“We had mice!”

“Okay, so it was cheap. We didn’t have money.”

“You barely had a job,” Mrs. Tifton pointed out.

“You didn’t.”

Jane smiled broadly. They were done fighting, this was banter. It was adorable. In an odd way, it reminded her of Jeffrey and Skye. It was juvenile, like they were still twenty years old and sparks were flying in all sorts of wild directions.

Everyone was laughing (even a few eavesdropping strangers). Jane was elated to see smiles on all their faces. The world was almost right again. At least as right as it was going to get.

“I don’t hate you,” Alec told Mrs. Tifton softly. “Truly, I don’t. It’s important to me that you know that.”

“Is that so?” she said in a near whisper.

“Call me an absentee father again and repeat the question.”

For how angry that comment had made him, he certainly joked about it with great ease.

Mrs. Tifton brushed her hand down the side of Alec’s arm. It was such a simple gesture, but it carried so much intimacy. “I shouldn’t have said that. It was unfair and uncalled for.”

“You’re both of those things a lot.”

Mrs. Tifton exhaled through her nose. “Just let me apologize.”

Alec caught her hand when it dropped from his arm. “It’s okay. I’m agitated too.”

Jane’s imagination took flight and her head soared into the clouds. The immersed herself in a vision of Alec pulling Mrs. Tifton into his arms and telling her that he never stopped loving her. Mrs. Tifton said “oh Alec, you’ve always been the one for me. I was too prideful to realize.” They kissed. Everyone applauded.

Jane shook herself out of her daydream. It was beyond strange for her to be supportive of those two getting back together, but she was. She thought of Skye and Jeffrey. She looked at Rosalind and Tommy, even her father and Iantha. There was no shortage of romance blossoming from this tragedy. Jane couldn’t think of a better thing to pave the way toward subsequent healing. And heal they must. There would be a lot of that going around. Jane was viciously reminded of that by the return of one of the doctors. Dr. Hawkins, she believed his name was. Her worry rushed back. He asked for Jeffrey’s parents once more.

“Just tell us what you have to say,” said Mrs. Tifton said, sounding tired. “They’ll ask about it and I don’t want to have to remember.”

Dr. Hawkins scanned the group with a warm but saddened look on his face. He took a few more steps toward Mrs. Tifton and Alec so that he was speaking to them directly, but loud enough so they all could hear. Skye hovered closely behind him, wringing her hands.

“Your son is a survivor,” he said. “I’ve been a doctor for a long time. I’ve never admired a patient so much just for living.”

That was not as comforting as he’d intended it to be.

He had a yellow folder in his hands that he gave to Mrs. Tifton. She took it but didn’t open it. Jane felt a surge of concern just from the mere thickness of it. Skye had been in and out of the hospital in a single day. From the looks of it, Jeffrey would not be so lucky.

“Dr. Zhang is in surgery with Jeffrey now. He’s an excellent orthopedic surgeon. I want to go over Jeffrey’s injuries with you so you can know what to expect. Understand a little about what we’re doing to help him.”

Alec slid his arm around Mrs. Tifton’s shoulders. She leaned against him, looking frightened.

“Jeffrey’s suffered what we call a comminuted patellar fracture. That means that his kneecap split into multiple pieces – in this case, four. Dr. Zhang will go in and remove the bone fragments that are too small to be reattached, then he will wire together the remaining pieces and fix them with screws.”

Alec nodded gravely and pulled Mrs. Tifton closer to him.

“We also discovered a tibial eminence fracture, likely caused by hyperextension. Unfortunately, that ruptured his posterior cruciate ligament. The damage there caused what is called popliteal arterial thrombosis, blood clotting in the artery that runs through the back of the knee.”

That was a lot of big, scientific words that Jane did not understand, but she understood fracture and blood clotting. And rupture. Rupture couldn’t possibly be anything but bad. Her heart thudded violently against her ribs.

“The damaged artery has been repaired with a saphenous vein graft. During the PCL reconstruction, the ligament is attached through transosseous femoral fixation, when it is anchored through the bone.”

Jane was miles past lost. She didn’t have even the slightest inkling about what the doctor was telling them. It did nothing to ease her worries; it only made them worse. _This is just the knee surgery,_ she thought. _There is so much more._

“No surgery is required to repair his broken ankle,” Dr. Hawkins continued. “As is often the case, his posterior malleolus fracture is coupled with a lateral malleolus fracture – the tibia and the fibula at the ankle joint. They share ligament attachments, so a posterior malleolus fracture commonly results in that second break. Thankfully, the fractures are both stable, so there is no need to operate. It will heal on its own given time and the proper brace.”

“Will he even be able to walk again?” Mrs. Tifton asked, dangerously high pitched.

“If all goes well, yes. That’s the hope.”

That wasn’t an answer. It gave them nothing. Jane swallowed back irritation.

“We took several x-rays that showed us additional breaks, but they should all similarly heal without surgery. He has three broken ribs. Two on his left side, one on his right. There is a Colles fracture in his right wrist, which means the broken end of the radius is tilting upward. His left wrist is sprained, but no broken bones. We also found compression thoracolumbar fractures in his t6 and t7 vertebrae. That kind of break is often caused by taking blunt force to the back.”

“You mean like being beaten with a golf club?” Skye spat. As soon as she’d shut her mouth, she looked like she wanted to take the words back.

Mrs. Tifton squeaked out a small cry of alarm and stumbled. Alec tried to hold her up, but he was weak in the knees himself. When Mrs. Tifton fell to the floor, she dragged him down with her. Neither of them bothered to attempt to stand.

Dr. Hawkins turned his head toward Skye. An expression of sickened disbelief crossed over his face. “Yes,” he said. “Exactly. We’ll put him in a back brace for at least eight weeks, and it will be alright.”

Skye’s eyes were shining. “He had a broken back, broken ribs and he _threw_ himself against chains trying to protect me from…from…”

Skye stomped away five paces, then returned with her hands balled into tight fists at her sides. Furious tears flowed down her cheeks. “Moron. Heroic _moron_ ,” she gasped.

Dr. Hawkins waited, but when the silence continued, he knelt in front of Mrs. Tifton and Alec. “Would you like me to stop?”

They both shook their heads.

“We took a CT scan because of his…visible head trauma.”

Skye gave a single, harsh laugh like “visible head trauma” was a massive understatement.

“He has a mild intracranial hematoma, but its small enough that it doesn’t need to be removed. We will monitor it in the upcoming weeks to ensure it doesn’t worsen, but it should go away on its own.”

That was not reassuring either. Jane was ready for the doctor to leave. She wished Jeffrey’s parents had told him to stop.

“The last thing is we gave him a total of 280 stitches to close the lesions on his back, his arms, his torso, and his face.”

Everyone stared, openmouthed. He’d only said four, but it seemed to Jane like he had listed off all of Jeffrey’s body parts.

 _“280?”_ said Alec, like he had misheard the number.

“He’ll have more than a few battle scars, but the cuts will heal nicely. I stitched him up myself.” Dr. Hawkins gave them a slight smile. “He’s going to be alright. He’s got a long road ahead of him, but there is a lot for him to be proud of.”

“Proud of?” Mrs. Tifton hissed. “He’s a victim. That is not an accomplishment.”

 _“Surviving_ is an accomplishment,” the doctor said. “A great one. It’s crucial that he understands that. I hope you can all believe it too.”

“He’s right,” said Skye. She looked down at his sweatshirt and tugged at some of the blood dried into the fabric. “Jeffrey’s really brave.”

Jane wanted to hug Skye, but she got the feeling it wouldn’t be appreciated. She hugged herself instead.

“Do you have any questions for me?” Dr. Hawkins said gently.

“How long until we can see him?” asked Mrs. Tifton.

“He’ll be in surgery for a couple more hours, and he should wake up maybe thirty or forty minutes after that,” said the doctor. “That’s hard to say though, he badly needs rest.”

There were no further questions. That is, none that were spoken out loud. Jane had about a million swirling around inside her head, but there were none that she trusted the doctor to answer.

When Dr. Hawkins was gone, Alec looked up at Skye from his place on the floor. “He hit him with a golf club?”

Skye rubbed her hand across her cheek. Her shoulders slumped. She nodded. “I didn’t mean to say that. It sort of slipped out.”

“What else did he…” Mrs. Tifton couldn’t finish. She crawled shakily to her feet and sat in an open chair. Alec followed suit. She lay her forehead in the palm of her hand.

Skye stared at her shoes. “I don’t want to talk about it,” she said. “I’m sorry. I can’t. Watching it – that was the worst thing I’ve had to go through. I’ve been trying to forget. If he wants you to know, Jeffrey can tell you.”

The worst thing she has gone through. Jane’s soul fractured into pieces like the bones in Jeffrey’s knee. She didn’t know how Skye could say that after the abuse she herself had suffered. Skye was unwaveringly loyal, and she would be till her very last breath, but Jane still could not make sense of it. Skye was telling the truth, there was no question about that. It impressed Jane as much as it hurt her.

Mrs. Tifton pressed Skye a little bit, though it was more like she was working through the information she had already been given. “You said he threw himself against…” She stopped, rephrasing. “He chained him up?”

“Yes.” Skye said it like it should have been assumed. Probably it should have been, but Jane thought Mrs. Tifton had been wise not to think about such things.

“A lot,” Skye added. She didn’t look up from her feet.

“And he beat him with a _club?”_

“Don’t!” Skye’s hands flew to her head like she was trying to keep it from exploding. “Don’t, I can’t stop seeing it.”

Mrs. Tifton finally started to cry. Jane thought it was a miracle she had made it so far.

“He’s just a kid. My baby boy,” said Mrs. Tifton. “This was…it was all because of the divorce? He attacked Jeffrey! Besides that, it was my choice. Why didn’t he try to kill _me?”_

“That’s what he said.” Skye finally tore her eyes away from the floor. “But I don’t think that anymore. I think he’s wanted to hurt Jeffrey for a long time, and then he didn’t have anything to lose, so he did.”

“That doesn’t make sense!” Mrs. Tifton cried. “Jeffrey has always been polite around him, a little awkward maybe, but he’s an angel.”

“I wouldn’t try to understand him,” said Mr. Penderwick. “Jeffrey is the politest teenager I’ve ever met, but it wouldn’t make a difference if he was a delinquent. Nothing Dexter did was remotely justifiable.”

“I hope they kill him,” Skye said venomously. “In prison. I hope they hear what he did, and they kill him for it.”

No one disagreed. If anyone could deserve that, Dexter did.

“I’d do it myself if I could,” said Skye. “I would do _everything_ he did to Jeffrey and then I’d murder him. And I would love it.”

Skye talked a lot about murder. Jane had heard her spout numerous death threats over the years, but this was the first time she had ever believed that her sister actually meant it. She could visualize Skye standing over Dexter and crushing his kneecap beneath her foot or yanking his nails from his hand. Though she couldn’t fault her for that, it terrified her.

“It’s probably a good thing that you can’t,” said Mr. Penderwick. “I think we’ve had enough violence for one lifetime.”

“Then why do I feel so fucking violent?” Skye muttered.

Jane hesitantly put her hand on Skye’s shoulder. She was reassured when Skye didn’t jerk away from her touch.

“Jeffrey will calm you down when you see him,” she said.

“He better,” said Skye. “Because right now, I feel like I could kick a puppy. I _hate_ this feeling.”

“No kicking,” said Mr. Penderwick firmly. “Come sit, Skye. Try to relax.”

With a show of great reluctance, Skye sat next to Mr. Penderwick. She crossed her arms and glared fiercely at everything that moved.

“Churchie will be here soon,” Mrs. Tifton offered. She sniffed loudly. “She’s excited to see you.”

Churchie. Jane felt a little bad. She’d been so overwhelmed that she had hardly noticed that Churchie was no longer with them. Skye’s dark expression softened a fraction at the thought of seeing her, but she still looked menacing, like she could tear apart the room with only her gaze.

Jane got that. They still had hours before Jeffrey would be awake. It was much, much too long to wait.


	34. Chapter 34

It took Jeffrey a minute to realize where he was. The pain helped, as did the steady beeping and whirring of nearby machinery. He was in a hospital bed. He was alive – safe, even. That part he still didn't understand.

He grimaced as he lifted his head to look at himself. He wasn't very encouraged. The hospital bed was positioned so that his legs were elevated. His knee was wrapped thickly with gauze and cohesive bandages. His ankle was splinted and supported with tape. His right wrist was already in a plaster cast. So it _had_ broken. Fantastic. His left was covered in a removable black brace. An IV was dripping fluids into his arm. A few of the bandages over his stitches peeked out from the sleeve of his hospital gown. The rest of them were hidden, but he knew how many there were. That part he had been awake for. Overall, he was a certifiable disaster. Also fantastic.

A nurse stood next to him checking the readings on an EKG. She turned when she heard him stir.

"Welcome back," she said, saccharine and syrupy. "How are you feeling? Are you comfortable?"

Her voice made his head hurt. He wondered if she meant welcome back to consciousness or welcome back from, well, captivity. Hopefully _not_ the second option.

"Comfortable? Uh, no. Not really." He tried to sound polite, but he was being honest. It even hurt to breathe. At least he _could_ breathe. No one was strangling him anymore. His voice hadn't come back. He didn't know if getting choked had broken it, or if he had screamed himself hoarse.

"I have painkillers ready for you, if you would like," said the nurse. "OxyContin is really powerful; you'll feel a lot better."

Jeffrey considered that. "Would it make me high?"

The nurse smiled. "Not likely. Drowsiness is the more common side effect, especially for the amount of pain you must be feeling."

"I'm good, thanks," said Jeffrey. He was surprisingly sure of that. He wanted to be alert and coherent. He refused to waste time he could spend with his family by sleeping. At this point, he was used to pain. "Can you—" He coughed. His throat stung. "Can you get my parents, please?"

"Sure, honey," she said. "They're right outside."

She opened the door and Jeffrey's stomach fluttered, a little from nerves and a little from postoperative nausea. His mother entered first, practically sprinting into the room. Jeffrey's breath caught in his chest. His head fell back into the pillow as it spun from a happiness so overwhelming it was its own painkiller. He stared up at the ceiling, the lights swimming as his eyes filled with tears. Mrs. Tifton rushed to his bedside. He forced himself to sit up. He felt the sharp pain, but strangely, it didn't seem to hurt. He carefully pulled the IV from his arm and tossed it away. Blood bubbled from the injection site, but if his mother didn't care, he didn't. She had him in her arms before he had time to prepare himself for it. She was gentle, but Jeffrey squeezed her like his life depended on it. Mrs. Tifton cried. She whispered his name over and over, telling him that she loved him. Jeffrey didn't trust himself to speak.

Another hand rested on Jeffrey's shoulder. He glanced up and made eye contact with his father. Mrs. Tifton felt him there. She held Jeffrey for another second or two, then she backed away. He didn't get to hug Alec for quite as long.

"Jeffrey?" the nurse said with incredible patience. "I'm sorry, but I need to wrap your arm. Now."

Jeffrey looked down and winced from embarrassment. Blood coated his forearm, thick and dark red.

"Sorry," he told the nurse. "My bad."

Mrs. Tifton covered her mouth, clearly distressed. At first Jeffrey thought it was from all of the blood, then he realized it was his voice.

The nurse pressed a thick square of gauze over the injection site. She wiped the blood away with alcohol wipes. She cleaned what she could from the bed, but it still stained the sheets. She finished up by wrapping a cohesive bandage around Jeffrey's elbow.

"I'm going to set this timer for three minutes," said the nurse. "I need you to keep putting pressure on that until it goes off, okay?"

Jeffrey held a finger over the bandage. He gave the nurse a guilty smile. He could sense her exasperation. She took a bottle of water from a cabinet and set it on a tray next to him.

"And please, drink that. If you don't want the IV, that's fine, but I need you to get liquid in you."

Jeffrey nodded. "I feel like you're about to give me detention."

The nurse laughed. "I've dealt with much worse, I'll let you off with a warning. But next time you're in trouble." She gathered up a couple of charts and made for the door. "I'll give you guys a moment. If you need anything, press that green button to your right."

Alone and with the initial reunion out of the way, Jeffrey suddenly felt awkward and exposed.

"So…hi." That did nothing to help with the awkwardness and having both of his parents in the same room together wasn't making it any easier. In six years, he could only think of one time he had experienced that. His two lives that he kept very, very separate were colliding, and it freaked him out.

Mrs. Tifton's eyes were dry, but full of heartbreak. "Look at you," she whispered. She held a hand to Jeffrey's face. It trailed down his neck and stopped. She kept it there while she examined the marks Dexter's chain had left behind. He could feel his pulse under her thumb. He didn't fault her for staring, but he felt like he was under a microscope. He hadn't seen it yet, but it was undoubtedly bad. He'd caught the horrified look on Skye's face when she had put two and two together. It was the exact expression his mother was wearing now.

"He strangled you?" said Mrs. Tifton. She was struggling to speak like she was getting strangled herself.

Jeffrey had expected this line of questioning, but that didn't make him any more ready to answer. He tried to laugh it off. "Once or twice." The sarcasm didn't come through. It was impossible to joke about.

Mrs. Tifton kissed his forehead. A tear dripped from her face and landed on the side of Jeffrey's nose. "I love you, baby. I'm so sorry."

Jeffrey took her hand down from his neck and held it in his. It was difficult for him to do with his wrist in a brace, but he curled his fingers around it. He lay back on the bed, exhausted by the effort it took to merely sit up. Alec pulled a chair over for Mrs. Tifton before sitting in one himself.

As Jeffrey watched him, he realized that he had to know something. He didn't want to, exactly, but still, he had to. It would eat away at him forever if he didn't. "Alec, did you get—" His throat closed, and again he had to cough to clear it out. "Did you get anything from Dexter?"

Mrs. Tifton spun toward Alec, startled. "Did you?"

Alec's eyes darted between her and Jeffrey. "Yes." He sounded as hoarse and voiceless as Jeffrey was.

Jeffrey felt his face heat up. He had so hoped Dexter had just been messing with him. "Okay," he said. He thought back to what had all been in that video. Chains, a gag, him hanging from his ankles. Dexter had probably hit him, but he couldn't remember. Shit. "That's embarrassing."

"Embarrassing? No, Jeffrey," said Alec. "You fought through all of that and you won. That's nothing to be ashamed of. You inspire me."

Jeffrey could have cried. He didn't feel like much of an inspiration. He certainly didn't feel like he had won anything. If this was winning, victory needed a full renovation. He wished he wasn't, but he _was_ ashamed. Deeply. Still, his father's words did ebb a small piece of that away.

"What are you talking about? What did he send you?" Mrs. Tifton demanded.

Alec sighed. "Uh, it was just a…um…"

"He sent him a video." Jeffrey's voice cracked on the last word. "Of me."

Mrs. Tifton's brimming eyes grew large and round. "When?"

"Sunday morning," said Alec.

"Four days ago? Alec!" said Mrs. Tifton. "You've been hiding that this whole time?"

"Trust me, Brenda. You did not want to see it."

"That's not what I meant," Mrs. Tifton murmured. "You were dealing with that all by yourself?"

She placed her free hand over Alec's. Jeffrey's eyebrows shot halfway up his forehead, then furrowed in confusion. His mouth fell open, but he snapped it shut the second he noticed. He quickly turned his head, pretending there was nothing to see. Then, unable to resist, he stole another glance. Yep. There was his mother's hand, still definitely resting on top of his father's.

"Jane saw it," said Alec. He didn't look remotely surprised by Mrs. Tifton's touch. "I wasn't paying attention; I should have stopped her. It made her faint."

"That's horrible."

Jeffrey's cheeks were hot again. The timer beeped. Jeffrey had not held pressure on his wrapped elbow. Whoops. It didn't seem to be bleeding.

"Yeah," Alec agreed. "What's embarrassing, Jeffrey, is I lost my cool and punched a hole in the wall."

"Kind of badass, actually," said Jeffrey. He was decidedly not watching as Alec rotated his hand around to intertwine it with Mrs. Tifton's.

"Apparently I get that from you."

Jeffrey's gaze flicked back down to parents' clasped hands. They could be teasing him, trying to tell him something without actually saying it, or were emotions running so high they didn't realize what they were doing?

"If you get it from me, then I get it from Skye." Immediately, Jeffrey felt the need to brag about her. Maybe brag wasn't the right word, given the context. He wanted his parents to appreciate her as much as she deserved. "Remember when Dexter called you and that detective tried convincing him to let Skye go?"

"Of course, sweetheart," said Mrs. Tifton. It was not a fond memory.

"He hung up all dramatic like "now they both get to die," but actually, it worked. She did convince him," said Jeffrey. "He left the door open and said she could go. I was stuck, but she wasn't restrained at all. I told her to go, I cussed her out and everything."

"But she didn't," said Alec.

Jeffrey shook his head. "She wouldn't leave me."

"She broke down today, screaming and crying. It was hard to watch," said Mrs. Tifton. "She kept apologizing to me for abandoning you."

Jeffrey exhaled, briefly irritated. "I hate her sometimes. Abandoning me? He dragged her out by her neck! He said he was going to kill her. I – I thought he did."

Jeffrey swallowed the lump that formed in his throat from the memory. Panicked didn't begin to describe how he'd felt, nor did empty or broken describe how he'd felt after. If Skye hadn't been there to greet him, or if he'd had to deal with everyone being so happy to see him, knowing that he'd gotten Skye killed, he wasn't sure he would have made it.

"That's not even all of it," he said. He had to tread carefully here. He wouldn't say anything that might expose Skye. "Do you know what he did to her?"

Alec and Mrs. Tifton looked at each other uncomfortably.

"I think we have a pretty good idea," said Mrs. Tifton.

"Right, well, there's a reason why." Jeffrey draped his right arm across his body, flinching from the pain that stabbed through his ribs. He poked out his index finger. A thin red cut was sliced across the knuckle. "I kind of need my fingers for music, so he thought it would funny if he…" Jeffrey wriggled his fingers as if checking that they were in fact still there. "Cut them off."

"Christ," Alec hissed.

Mrs. Tifton bit her lip and did her best not to sob.

"He said he was going to take away what I love most." Jeffrey curled his fingers into a fist and gasped in pain. He'd forgotten about his sprained wrist. "So Skye told him that was her. She thought it would stop him." He pulled his hand from his mother's so he could display all ten of his fingers, connected to his hands just as they should be. He thought about the reason Dexter had left them intact, so he could make him…Jeffrey's jaw clenched. "And it did."

Jeffrey turned his head away as tears flooded into his eyes. Dexter forcing himself on Skye played over in his mind. He was afraid if his parents saw his face, they would read his thoughts and know exactly what had happened. He walked himself through his next few breaths and pulled himself together. For some reason, he kept talking.

"He'd hardly even touched her, but after that he—" Jeffrey choked. He could still hear Skye screaming. His ears rang with every vile thing Dexter had called her, gloating like he had won a prize. "He wouldn't leave her alone. Just to make me watch him hurt her."

At some point, his mother had taken her hand back from Alec. She had them tightly clasped in front of her face like she was praying.

"She sacrificed herself to save my stupid hand." Jeffrey almost sounded angry. To be fair, he was, but it wasn't because of Skye. Jeffrey doubted he would ever find it in him to be mad at her again. She could walk all over him and he would still owe her the world.

It took about three minutes for anyone to work up the courage to say something. It was a hard announcement to follow.

"I think," said Mrs. Tifton. She was visibly shaking. "It goes without saying that I am the worst judge of character alive."

Jeffrey wanted to tease her, say that on a scale of one to ten, she was a negative ten, but humor didn't fit the situation. He kept that thought to himself.

"Do you want to see her?" His mother asked.

Jeffrey nodded. He doubted it was even possible for him to want something more.

* * *

**A/N: I was listening to Point Mouette on the way to work today and can we all agree that Dexter actually simps so hard for Mrs. Tifton like this man volunteered to drive ALL NIGHT LONG BY HIMSELF (that is a safety hazard ma'am don't let him do that) to go get HER kid for her because "she was too upset to make the trip." Bitch get your ass in the car you can cry on the way there.**

**Lowkey goals.**

**I'm kidding I can't write this and then make that joke. Now I feel gross.**

**But at the same time my bf complains about getting me water when he's already in the kitchen so...**

**He definitely divorced her cause he was tired of being her bitch. She deserved a redemption arc in the last book I STAND. BY. THAT.**

**Also not me having a crush on Jeffrey when i was like eight and then growing up to simp for Alec.**

**I know no one who has read these books so I'm getting my commentary out here. Apologies.**


	35. Chapter 35

Skye wanted to give Jeffrey time with his parents, really, she did. If they took much longer, however, she would have to barge in and interrupt. She couldn't stand all of this waiting. Churchie had arrived shortly after Mrs. Tifton had said. Apparently, she gone to update her daughter in Boston about everything, and probably to revel in the fact that her own child was not missing. Skye frowned at that fault. That wasn't fair. Churchie loved Jeffrey like he was her own child.

Churchie's presence had comforted Skye, but not for long. She'd already worked herself into a near rage. If she didn't see Jeffrey soon, she would lose control. The first victim of her temper would be the innocent girl across the hallway that was tapping her acrylic nails on the arm of her chair. She was probably in elementary school. Why were elementary schoolers even allowed to have acrylic nails? Skye hated them. They were impractical and obnoxious, even for teenagers. After that, she would probably yell at Jane. She'd said she felt like kicking a puppy, and while there were luckily no puppies around, shouting at Jane would have a similar effect.

She was in the middle of searching for something to be angry with her sister about when the door of Jeffrey's room cracked open. Mrs. Tifton and Alec both slipped into the hall.

"He's asking for you," said Alec. He was looking at Skye strangely.

Skye stood up. "He's alright? How is his—"

Okay. Mrs. Tifton was hugging her. She embraced her so tightly that Skye's back popped. Her arms were pinned at her sides. She stood awkwardly, accepting it, but not having a clue what to do.

"Thank you," Mrs. Tifton whispered.

"I—what?" Skye stammered, too taken aback for coherent sentences.

"You didn't fail, you did protect him," said Mrs. Tifton, remembering what Skye had told her the last time she had tried to thank her for that very same thing. "I think you saved his life."

Skye shrank in on herself defensively. She didn't appreciate this sort of praise, and especially not from Mrs. Tifton. It was wrong. She didn't deserve it. She hadn't been with Jeffrey for three days; he had saved his own life through sheer will. The credit for that was his alone. She might have protected him from one thing, but she _had_ failed to save him, just like she had said. She'd fueled Dexter's fire, and in the end, Jeffrey had gotten burned.

Skye wriggled away from Mrs. Tifton, who (naturally) was crying. She probably hadn't stopped from the moment she had first seen Jeffrey.

"What did he tell you?"

Mrs. Tifton tried to answer, but words failed her. She pressed her lips tightly together and only stared at Skye, weepy and wide eyed.

"He told us enough," said Alec, coming to her rescue. "Skye, we—"

"Of course he did," said Skye, cutting him off before he could thank her too. The idea made her sick. "I hope you had a nice reunion, because I'm going to kill him."

She went into his room before anyone else could find another thing to be fucking grateful about. She closed the door behind her with a soft click. She lingered, facing away from Jeffrey with her hand against the doorframe. She wasn't angry. It was just like him to credit her for his own survival and impossible resilience, but that broke her heart. She wanted him to see how special that made him. A flower of nerves sprouted in her chest. The initial joy of reuniting with him – of finding him alive had grown faint and translucent. This time, when she faced him and all of his battered glory, she would truly see him. Everything wrong with him would hit her like a bullet shot between her eyes.

She took a deep breath to steel herself and turned. Jeffrey was covered in bandages; where he wasn't, his skin was purple and green. The sight gave her vertigo. He looked better than he had – less like a moving corpse. He'd been cleaned up, so he wasn't caked with grime, but she somehow felt more upset. It was as if she'd been holding out hope that all his injuries would be washed away with his blood, and now that hope had been squashed into nothing.

Jeffrey smiled at her, but when he tried to sit up, pain quickly tore it from his face. He gave up that idea.

"Hey," he managed.

Skye knew that he didn't want to be stared at. She had felt the same way, but she couldn't stop herself. It was hard to believe that he was there in front of her, especially looking at him now and seeing what bad shape he was in.

"What happened?" She whispered as tears started to fall.

Jeffrey didn't answer her. He was staring at her the same way she was looking at him. Skye sat next to him on the bed. She wanted to crawl in and live there, just the two of them. She slid her hand into his, hating how half of it was obscured beneath a brace.

"What did he do to do you?" she asked again.

She felt Jeffrey stop breathing. He closed his hand tightly over hers. His fingers dug into her skin. When he realized, he forced himself to relax.

"You're the only person I'll tell," he said.

It took Jeffrey a long time to get the story out. He kept losing his place and zoning out as he forced himself to remember. Skye said nothing as he described being tortured with knives and electricity, whipped with a chain, and choked repeatedly with one until he nearly passed out. Her breathing was rapid and shallow, like she'd sprinted up a flight of stairs and was trying but failing to hide how exhausted she was. Tears were gushing from her eyes in a constant current. She couldn't distinguish one from another. It was like the 60% of her body that was water was pouring from her tear ducts in one stormy torrent.

"Then he left me like that, and he never came back," Jeffrey finished.

He might as well have carved her heart out with a butter knife. Piercing pain ripped through her left shoulder like the beginning of a heart attack.

"Because he got arrested," Skye croaked. She wasn't sure he knew that. "He's going to prison for good."

Jeffrey looked down the length of his broken body. He inhaled sharply, trying to calm himself. His muscles were clenched so tightly he shook. He was fighting tears.

Skye lay a hand across his chest and stroked her fingers beneath his collarbone. "You can cry, Jeffrey. It's okay."

Jeffrey bit his lip. He shook his head and blinked what must have been a dozen times. "I don't want to. I don't want to let him hurt me anymore." He tried again to breathe deeply, but the air stuck before it reached his lungs. "But if I'm going to talk about it, I…I—" He was tipping over the edge. Skye could sense he was about to plunge off of it. "I can't help it."

He plunged. She could still feel him warring with himself, but he was losing. Skye wanted to vomit. His anguish wrapped itself around her stomach and twisted it into a sailor's knot. It was psychologically torturing him to cry. Jeffrey had been tortured enough. He didn't need this. She put both of her hands to the sides of Jeffrey's face. She stood so she could lean over him without touching him, and she kissed him. This time, she remembered to be gentle. With hardly any pressure, she brushed her lips over his and caressed his cheeks with her thumbs, wiping away each tear as it fell. The kiss tasted like salt. She didn't want to stop, but her own crying intensified until she was forced to pull away. She didn't have control over her mouth. Her lips trembled.

"I love you," she said, so breathy they were hardly words. She rested her forehead against his, her hands still on his face. "I love you, Jeffrey. You're so strong." She backed up so she could look him in the eye. "You're my idol and my hero."

Jeffrey held his arm out to her, but Skye hesitated.

"I don't want to hurt you," she said.

"Please," he whispered.

Skye shifted her stance so she could comfortably hug him. He pulled her closer until she was laying on his chest. She did her best not to let her full weight fall on him. His chin lay over her shoulder, his arms folded around her and trapped her against him like iron straps.

"Seven hours and thirty-eight minutes," Jeffrey said into her ear. "That's how long it lasted. He told me when he left."

A strangled sob burst from Skye's throat, one that was half scream. She lost the will to restrain herself. She hugged Jeffrey back as fiercely as he held her.

"I can still feel it. Like it's happening again."

Skye's shoulder itched where it was damp from his tears. Her face was crusty and wet.

"I'm not strong, Skye. I'm not. I let him break me." Jeffrey started to sob. He moved so that his mouth was pressed against the base of her neck as he tried to trap the sobbing inside. His teeth scraped against her skin when it escaped with a force that jarred them both like the room had started to shake. Skye knotted her fingers in his hair, tugging him so much closer to her that she actually lifted him an inch from the mattress. She didn't let him go until his sobbing faded and his tears slowed to a trickle.

She sat on the edge of the bed and held both of his hands. "You know you didn't deserve this, right? He didn't brainwash you or anything?"

Jeffrey studied her with eyes still red and watering. "How do you know I said that?"

"Dexter made an appearance. He told your mother you did. He pretty much announced to the whole station that he raped me. I threw a stapler at him, all very exciting stuff."

"Did you hit him?"

"Right in the back of the neck," said Skye. "But Jeffrey, I'm serious. Did you start to believe him?"

Jeffrey swallowed and tightened his jaw. "No. Not about that."

Skye let herself breathe again, until she started wondering which of Dexter's delusions Jeffrey had believed.

"I said a lot of things. Whatever he wanted, actually."

Skye lay next to him on the bed. Her legs draped over the side so she wouldn't crowd him. She didn't pressure him to tell her more.

"My socks were in my mouth. I couldn't actually say _words_. I think that was his favorite part."

Skye's face was maybe six inches from Jeffrey's, but he spoke so quietly she barely heard him. Sweltering mortification radiated off of him. She could almost see it, like heat shimmering above the turf during one of her particularly hot soccer games.

"He gagged me, and I still said everything he prompted me to. Word for word." His face was an impossible shade of crimson. He lifted his hand to his face to cover his eyes. "He loved it. He said it _aroused_ him. He'll cherish that memory forever because I was weak enough to give it to him. I hate myself for that."

"Don't. You did what you had to do to survive."

"No." Jeffrey took his hand from his eyes, but he would not look at her. The only other time he had ever been so avoidant of her gaze was when Dexter had made him finger her. This shame cut him just as deep. "I did what I thought would get him to kill me."

Skye wanted to cry again, but she thought that would only make him feel worse, so she didn't allow it. She softly pressed her lips to the skin where his neck connected with his shoulder. It was frighteningly hot, like he had a fever well above 100.

"I said he owned me. I said I was worth nothing and I deserved everything he was doing to me. I apologized to him, Skye. He was torturing me, and I called him _sir_." Jeffrey hid his face behind his hand again. It was stark white against his flushed cheeks. "He told me to say I was his slave." His broken voice shook. He was crying. "He had me chained up and gagged, I think by that point I was naked, and I literally said that I was."

There was Skye's limit. That was sick. She jumped from the bed and stumbled to the sink to throw up. His slave? No. She didn't want to think about why Dexter might have stripped him, but before she could stop herself, she had figured it out. She knew a bit about the government and torture and interrogation. Target the most sensitive parts of the body for the quickest results. She wretched again. She rinsed out her mouth with the provided mouthwash, then cupped her hands and filled them with water.

When she returned to the bed, Jeffrey was not watching her. He now had both of his hands over his face. He was silent, but he was quavering from suppressed sobs.

"That's evil. He's a monster," said Skye. She crawled beside him and tugged them away. He resisted a little, then let her. She lay her head on Jeffrey's shoulder and focused on stabilizing her breathing. Her pulse was throbbing, and she couldn't quite feel her legs. Her hands were tingling with anxiety. She felt like she was about to perform in front of a large group of people and she had forgotten to prepare. She despised public speaking. Here, her audience was one, but the stakes were so much higher. She spoke slowly and deliberately, but she couldn't keep her voice steady. "I know what it feels like to be ashamed because of Dexter. When I am with my family, I want to disappear because how can I face them, knowing what he did?"

Jeffrey held his breath, then let it out with a shudder. Skye slung her arm across him and lightly curled her hand around the side of his neck. She traced her thumb over the corner of his jaw. Both of them were breathing fast, the sounds comingled in a fretful symphony. Skye rose and fell with the movements of Jeffrey's chest.

"I'm supposed to be the strong one. The fighter, the one that triumphs over adversity and brushes it off like it's no big deal. I feel like a fraud, because he took everything from me. He used me and then he threw me away like nothing. I'm supposed to live with that and move on, but I don't know how," said Skye. She snuggled closer to him and nuzzled her face into his shoulder. "I know that this shame you're feeling isn't going to go away, but you don't ever have to feel that way around me. Okay? I understand. You're not alone."

Jeffrey released a single audible sob before he choked it off. He slung his elbow over his face. His fingers grazed against Skye's face. He shook so violently he could have been having a seizure. A garbled cry jumped out of Skye's mouth. She inhaled such a deep gasp that her throat made a sound like the bark of a seal. Her lungs ached. "And Dexter? He can call you his slave and say that you're worthless, but he did not break you, because you're here. You survived, and you're perfect."

Jeffrey dried his face with the back of his hand. His blush hadn't subsided any. He was still feverishly hot. He wouldn't so much as glance at her. "I gave up."

"That's okay. That is _okay_." Skye held him with no intention of ever letting go. She placed another kiss to the crook of Jeffrey's neck.

"Do you know what you're worth to me?"

Jeffrey laughed a little, but without any humor. Remnants of crying still clung to his voice. "Probably a little more than what I'm worth to Dexter."

Under normal circumstances, a comment like that would elicit a response like, "marginally, if you're lucky," but not here. Skye had never been more serious. She gently trailed her lips up Jeffrey's neck, ghosting kisses over each ring of bruising. When she reached his ear, she whispered, "You know what I said about soaking up the universe?"

"Ha," said Jeffrey. "Yes."

"You are my universe." Her voice cracked as tears pricked at her eyes again. Impressive, really. She'd thought she was all cried out. These were different. Saying those words out loud had tugged at her heart and made her an unfamiliar kind of emotional. She moved her mouth down his cheek, kissing along the rope burn his gag had scraped into his skin. She stopped halfway, though she didn't pull back. "You are the most valuable thing in all of time and space."

She finished her trail of kisses across his face. It took three for her to reach the corner of his mouth. "And I fell so completely, disgustingly in love with you."

Finally, Jeffrey made eye contact with her. He started to smile. "That was all very romantic of you."

"Ugh, I know. You can never tell Jane."

Jeffrey kissed her. Skye would have been happy to continue that for quite some time, but she thought of something she had to get off of her chest.

"I'm sorry," she said.

"For what?" Her hair was hanging in her face. Jeffrey tucked it behind her ear, but it fell right back down.

Skye sat up. "Jeffrey, I really do love you. I know that now, so I'm sorry that something this awful had to happen to you for me to figure that out."

"Bonehead."

"I'm serious. I was a shit friend."

Jeffrey started to say, "You don't have to—"

"I couldn't admit it until Dexter put a gun in your mouth. Not to you, not to myself. I'm such a bitch."

"Skye, it's okay," said Jeffrey. He rubbed his hand over her forearm. "I already know that."

It was sweet of him to tease her. "Still, I'm really sorry."

"Thanks."

"I'll make it up to you, I swear," said Skye earnestly.

Jeffrey bolted upright so quickly that he cried out. "Okay, no. You did. A million times over. I'm in _your_ debt."

Skye looked down at her hands. "I wasn't trying to be a hero or anything. I just acted on instinct."

Jeffrey shook his head. "Instincts are about surviving. You almost got yourself killed."

"For you," said Skye. "I would have died for you with no regrets."

"Everyone thinks that is such a romantic statement," Jeffrey grumbled. "In reality, it seriously sucks."

"Romance is stupid that way."

"Maybe you're right."

He put his hand on Skye's leg and rubbed her thigh with his thumb. For some reason, that made her breath catch. She placed her hand in the curve of his elbow. She felt so much safer when she was touching him, just like she had in the trailer.

"It killed me, what he did," said Jeffrey. "You were protecting me the entire time, and I couldn't save you once. I'm sorry I couldn't protect you back."

That was unfair and so entirely untrue. "What about when you were upstairs, and I screamed at you to run? You could have gone out your window, but you came looking for me. You got on the floor and let him take you because if you hadn't, he would have killed me. Jeffrey, every single thing you went through is directly related to you saving my life. You could have gotten away."

"I never would have left you."

"Sounds familiar, doesn't it? We saved each other. So don't you dare give me that crap, okay? We're not keeping score."

"Okay. You're right," said Jeffrey. "And Skye, thank you for doing that for me. I haven't said that yet." He brought her hand to his lips. "It's not possible to do more for a person than that. I hated it. I kept thinking why didn't he gag you too when he tied you up? Then you wouldn't have been able to tell him. It tore me apart." He was getting emotional. It was becoming difficult for him to talk. "It still does, and it always will, but thank you."

Skye felt a surge of emotion. "You were worth it. All of it."

She kissed him with a renewed passion, like she had to compensate for every minute she had almost lost. Jeffrey sucked her bottom lip between his teeth. The tiniest little moan escaped Skye. She felt him smile.

When they broke apart, her eyes wouldn't focus. She felt drunk.

"You okay?" Jeffrey asked.

"Yeah," said Skye, snapping out of it. "That one just knocked me out a little bit."

Jeffrey grinned at her. He played at his own lip with his teeth. God, what was he doing to her? She watched his mouth with hypnotic fascination.

"I have a question," said Jeffrey, when he had tired of teasing her. "Does all of this mean that you _do_ want to be my girlfriend?"

Tired of teasing her _physically_. Skye rolled her eyes. "Yes, dumbass."

Jeffrey raised his hands. "Just checking. You were very against it before."

"Not that against it," Skye muttered, fully aware that that was an absolute lie.

Jeffrey laughed at her. "Really? Sorry if I missed you hitting on me."

Skye smiled guiltily. "Shut up."

Jeffrey laughed again, then winced. His pain brought reality crashing back. His green eyes filled with empathy and concern. "You don't have to talk about it, but if you want to, I'm here. Always," he said. "You're not alone either."

Skye looked out the window, gathering her thoughts. _Did_ she want to talk about it? She wasn't sure how to know if she did. Rape had intruded some of her thoughts the past several days, but she had been frantic about Jeffrey. She'd distracted herself with that, she could push it away. It had felt wrong to focus on what she _had_ been through when Jeffrey was presently being abused. But now…

Skye crossed her legs at the knees and ankles, as if doing so would block out the memories of Dexter forcing himself between them. Her muscles flexed taut, instinctively trying to shield her.

"It was worth it. That's not a lie, but…" She didn't know how to talk about it either. She was discovering that she knew next to nothing. "But that doesn't mean that it wasn't…" She trailed off again. Wasn't what? Terrible, torture, the worst thing imaginable. The words hung unspoken between them, thickening the air until it suffocated her.

"I feel disgusting. I can't clean myself enough." She wanted to take an acid bath to burn away his touch. She pulled Jeffrey's arm around her shoulders to remind herself that physical touch wasn't always detestable and intrusive. Sometimes it made everything better.

Skye felt like hiding her face the way that Jeffrey had. Instead, she made herself look at him. She had said that he didn't need to be ashamed with her. She did her best to follow her own advice. She could talk to him. Only him.

"It helped me that you were there," she said. "But I'm sorry that you had to watch."

Jeffrey skirted his thumb along the side of her jaw. Her skin tingled. "Don't apologize for that."

"Sometimes I couldn't hear you. It hurt too much, or I was too caught up in the fact that I was really, actually, in that moment being raped that I couldn't feel anything else. But I knew you were there, and I knew you were trying. I think that's how I got through it." It was starting to scare her, talking about it. It took all of her self-control not to look over her shoulder to see if Dexter was there. At times, this all still felt like a dream, and when she woke up, she would be bound helplessly again, stuck waiting for whatever Dexter would do to her next. Nightmares weren't the only reason she was afraid to sleep.

"But when we were outside and he raped me again, it was just me and him." Her words were fighting her. She could hear her subconscious willing her to shut up and keep it a secret. _Why are you telling him this?_ It nagged at her. She gulped back that question. This wasn't shame she was feeling. She was afraid. She didn't want him to look at her differently or be disappointed when he learned that she wasn't so indestructible; she had almost lost herself. He wouldn't, the rational side of her brain knew that, but rationality held no power over her. She couldn't fight that fear. It almost won; she was ready to stop there. She didn't want to take that risk. Jeffrey wouldn't ask her to continue.

She forged on. She shed her armor, lay down her shield, and faced the battlefield, completely vulnerable. "He beat me, and he choked me. He bit my…" She stretched down the collar of the sweatshirt. She would just show him. The teeth marks hadn't yet begun to fade. She didn't completely flash him, just enough so he could see the purple indentations Dexter had left there, like nasty claims on her flesh.

Jeffrey's eyes flicked down for only a moment before they returned to her face. Skye actually heard him grind his teeth. He gave a start, and his hand flew to his jaw. His squeezed his eyes shut, clearly in pain, then exhaled and relaxed. He lay his hand over Skye's arm. He didn't acknowledge that he was hurt. He was focused on her.

The pause had knocked a sizeable dent in Skye's bravery. It was hard for her to start up again. Her throat was raw and scratchy, her words grated against it. "He shoved my face in the dirt and fucked me."

Jeffrey tilted her head gently to look at the scrape across her face. The scabs had started to flake away that morning. He planted a lingering kiss on her cheekbone, just under her eye. Skye blinked back tears.

"He called me a white trash whore," she whispered. "He said the only thing I am good for is a quick dirty fuck." It stung. It didn't matter that it wasn't true, the insult had stuck with her. "You weren't there. He wasn't just trying to get to you anymore. He said that for me. It hurt—" She stopped until she was confident that she could keep her crying at bay. "It hurt me differently."

"Skye, listen," said Jeffrey. He pushed her hair back from her face. "You're going to go to college, become an engineer, a scientist – whatever you want. And when you get your Nobel Peace Prize because you've changed the world, Dexter can watch you from hell and choke on his white trash whore bullshit."

It should have made her feel better. "How can I do any of that when I don't even know how to make it to tomorrow?"

"Misery loves company, right? We'll get there together."

Jesus Christ, she loved him.

"He choked me unconscious while he was still inside me," said Skye. "I thought he was killing me. I thought the very last thing I experienced was going to be rape."

Jeffrey closed his eyes and rubbed his lips together. When he looked at her again, his eyes were wet. "That's what he said. He told me he shot you in the face before he was done. I heard the gunshot, I thought—" He started breathing very deliberately to force himself to stay calm. "He convinced me that you were dead. I tried not to believe him, but I did."

"What else did he say about me?" asked Skye.

"He taunted me about killing you. He said it was my fault." Jeffrey stopped talking a little too quickly.

"Is that it?"

Jeffrey turned his head away from her. "That's it."

"Are you lying?"

Jeffrey nodded.

"What did he say?" It was stupid of her to ask.

He turned back to her with torment all over his face. "That is never coming out of my mouth."

His tone told her there was no room for argument. She decided she was grateful. She would only torture herself with that knowledge. Dexter's touch was still deeply imprinted on her body. She didn't need to give herself more to recover from.

"I've never been the girl that's afraid of being raped," she said, moving on. Sort of. "I never thought about it. I didn't think I had to worry; I could handle myself. It just wouldn't happen to me." Skye chewed on the inside of her cheek. "I should've worried about it. It's a nightmare. I'm going to be terrified of it for the rest of my life."

"You're a survivor, Skye Penderwick," Jeffrey whispered. "I love you."

That, they both were. Skye tried to cling to the definition of "survivor" that she'd always believed: someone who is powerful and strong. It was slipping away. She saw a survivor as someone lucky, bruised and damaged beyond repair, who still has to face every day like the trauma is behind them. Done, past tense. The trauma would never be past tense.

"Kiss me," she said. "I don't…I don't feel him when you do."

Jeffrey slid his hand under her hair and wrapped it loosely over the back of her neck. "Then I'll kiss you forever if you want."

He did, and every time his lips touched hers, the smallest sliver of her pain withered away.

Forever turned out to be no more than a couple of minutes, for then the rest of the Penderwicks at last filed in to see Jeffrey.


	36. Chapter 36

Batty didn’t know what to make of Jeffrey’s condition. Dr. Hawkins had said a lot of scary things, but right now, Jeffrey was smiling. Batty didn’t like that the doctors had that he should be dead. He didn’t fit that description. He looked so alive. Wounded, yes, but alive. She wished she hadn’t given up on him. She felt guilty. She should have known he would come back to her. He always did. 

The nurse had been absolutely horrified to find such a large group crowding around Jeffrey. She had quite adamantly ordered them all out. No one wanted to go. Skye hadn’t left her spot next to Jeffrey. He still had his arm around her. It had been clear to Batty that the nurse had disapproved of that arrangement, but she hadn’t had the heart to criticize them. Batty hadn’t yet moved an inch. She couldn’t stop staring at Jeffrey. She was afraid if she looked away, he would disappear again. He glanced over at her a lot, even when he was talking to someone else, just to give her a smile. 

Mr. Penderwick was hovering as well, but the rest of the family had obeyed the order with many muttered complaints. The nurse waited impatiently for the remaining Penderwicks to follow suit. 

“One moment, this won’t take long,” Mr. Penderwick told her. Neither Batty nor Skye made any such promise. 

The nurse turned to Jeffrey. “You are a difficult patient, Mr. Tifton.” She smiled nonetheless, already fond of him. 

Jeffrey gagged. “I hate being called that.” 

“It means you’re in trouble,” said the nurse. “Rest. Try to make my job easy.” 

“I am, I’m resting. I promise,” said Jeffrey. He lay down. “See? Resting.” 

The nurse gave him two thumbs up. “I’m guarding the door,” she warned. “No more people in here.” She left, then stuck her head back inside. “Drink your water.” She shut the door again. 

“Can you hand me that?” Jeffrey asked Skye, pointing to the water bottle next to her. She did, and he chugged down half of it and set it in his lap. Batty couldn’t get over how hoarse he was. His voice was unrecognizable. He sounded nothing like himself.

Mr. Penderwick cleared his throat. “Jeffrey, if I may.” 

“Hm?” said Jeffrey. He’d been watching Skye, but now he focused his attention on Mr. Penderwick. 

“I thought you should hear it from me. You too, Skye.” He took off his glasses and twisted them between his fingers. “I lost my head this week. I don’t like who I became. Worry was not an excuse.” 

Batty thought her father was about to be a little _too_ honest. 

“I said somethings that were inappropriate. Insensitive to say the least.” 

“Oh.” Jeffrey laughed lightly. He had looked nervous, but now he seemed to be relieved. “You can stop there.” 

“What things?” Skye demanded. 

“Can I guess?” Jeffrey asked. When Mr. Penderwick left him an opening, he said, “My stepfather…my house…my issue, right? You said Skye shouldn’t have been taken. Just me.”

Mr. Penderwick sighed and placed his glasses back on his nose. The lenses were smudged with fingerprints, but he didn’t clean them. “I never blamed you, but still, I apologize.” 

_“What?”_ Skye almost shouted it. 

Jeffrey shushed her. “It’s no problem. I said the same thing. A lot. Drove Skye crazy.” 

“For good reason,” said Skye. “Daddy!” 

“I _am_ deeply sorry, Jeffrey,” said Mr. Penderwick. “I hope you know that I do consider you a part of our family.” 

“Thank you, sir. I’ve always felt like it.” 

“I’m glad to see you back, son,” said Mr. Penderwick.

“Me too,” Jeffrey agreed. “It got a little dicey there for a second, but we’re good.” 

“That is cause for much celebration.” With that, Mr. Penderwick left. 

“I can’t believe he said that!” Skye seethed. She didn’t even wait until the door had fully closed. Their father had to have heard her. Batty thought that might have been Skye’s intention. 

“Let it go,” Jeffrey laughed. “He’s right.” 

“Don’t start,” Skye warned him. 

“I never really stopped,” Jeffrey pointed out. 

“That is wildly irritating.” 

“I tend to be.” 

Skye raised her fist like she was about to punch his shoulder. Batty stepped forward, ready to stop her, but she didn’t have to. Skye caught herself. 

Jeffrey noticed. “What, you’re not going to hit me?” 

Skye shook her head. “I made a promise to myself and I intend to keep it. I’m done hitting you.” 

“I think I’m going to miss that.” 

Skye pulled his face close to hers. “I guess I’ll have to come up with something else to do instead,” she whispered. She leaned in to kiss him. Jeffrey moved to meet her mouth, but hardly a second before he could, Skye leaped about a foot away from the bed. Jeffrey was so shocked he still reached for her. 

“Something like that!” 

“Oh come on,” Jeffrey said with a frustrated laugh. He bit at his lip, then touched his hand to it and glanced down at his fingertips. He’d reopened one of the splits in his bottom lip. He rubbed the blood dry between his fingers. 

Batty felt invisible. She was used to that around Skye. She thought her sister and Jeffrey were cute, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that dating Skye would mean that Jeffrey would stop noticing her too. She started for the door, suddenly feeling like she might cry. 

She needn’t have worried. 

“Batty wait,” said Jeffrey. “Don’t go.” 

“No, no. Please do,” said Skye. “Bye.” 

Batty froze, confused. 

“Can you give us a bit?” Jeffrey asked Skye. 

Skye was appalled. “You’re kicking _me_ out?” 

Jeffrey grinned. “Relax. I don’t think Batty will hurt me any.”

Skye glowered at her. “You better not.” 

Now Batty thought she might cry for an entirely different reason. Jeffrey always saw her. Maybe that wouldn’t change. She allowed herself to hope, though Skye wasn’t making it easy. Batty didn’t blame her for that, not this time. She remembered how she had screamed and sobbed on the floor. If Jeffrey could bring that kind of emotion out of _Skye_ , then he held a special sort of power over her. One that Batty had thought that no one ever would. It wasn’t that Skye had a problem with her, it was that for now, she wanted Jeffrey to herself. That was okay. Especially because Jeffrey was asking for time with Batty anyway.

“Ten minutes,” he said. 

“My separation anxiety does not thank you for this.” 

“Never thought you’d be the clingy type,” Jeffrey teased. 

Skye’s mouth dropped open. 

“Kidding!” Jeffrey said quickly. “Love you.” 

Skye crossed her arms. “I think I’m done kissing you too.” 

Jeffrey snorted. “No you’re not.” 

“Someone’s cocky.” 

“I’m right.” 

She tried to hold onto her fierce glare, but it failed her, and she laughed. “Yeah, you are. I’m so not.” 

She leaned over him and Jeffrey laced his hands behind her head. 

“There,” he said. “Now you can’t pull away again.” 

“I wasn’t going to.” 

“Liar.” 

“I love how well you know me.” She kissed him, and Batty smiled. Skye was at long last, finally done being stupid. 

When she made it to the door, Jeffrey said, “Skye? Don’t go far, okay?”

Skye smirked. “Not the only clingy one, am I?” 

“Back in ten?”

“Back in five,” Skye promised. She shut the door behind her. 

Batty stepped closer to Jeffrey, then sat on the edge of the bed. “Are you okay?” She’d asked Skye same thing. She had felt ridiculous then too.

“Honestly?” said Jeffrey. “I’m great. Screwed up, of course, but great.” 

“I didn’t think I’d see you again,” Batty admitted. “I decided you were dead. I’m sorry.” 

“If I’d had my way, I would be.” Jeffrey took another sip of water. “I guess we can thank Dexter for that. I don’t think he actually had it in him to kill. He talked a big game, but he kept putting it off.” He closed the fingers of his left hand over his palm and studied his exposed, torn nailbeds. “Which is funny. Murder isn’t half as sick as what he did.” 

Batty started to cry. 

Jeffrey squeezed her shoulder, then grimaced. That must have hurt his broken wrist. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Batty sniffled. Another tear tickled her face. 

“Enough about that,” Jeffrey decided. “Dexter who, right?” 

“Right.” Batty wiped her eyes. “How are you—can you still play piano?” This was a deeply rooted concern for Batty. 

Jeffrey eyed the plaster cast encasing his wrist with distaste. “Now? No. But I can come back from a broken wrist. People do it all the time.” 

It seemed like such a long way away. How would he manage it? Batty could never. Music was her fortitude. Jeffrey relied on it for everything, just as she did. He needed it at a time like this. 

“I played your song,” she said. “You left the sheet music at the piano.”

Jeffrey’s face lit up. “Did you? What did you think?”

“It was hard,” Batty admitted. “I could barely do it, but I loved it.” 

His eyes shone with pride. “It’s taken me almost a month to write, I was really challenging myself. I wanted it to mean something.”

Batty thought it was incredible that Jeffrey could still be moved by her compliments, as if he didn’t already know he was a genius. Batty remembered Alec saying that the song was about Mrs. Tifton. She thought that Jeffrey had conveyed that quite well, professionally so. Broken wrist or not, he was going to go far. Of that, she was certain. She only hoped to be half as gifted as he was one day. 

“Maybe you can help me finish it,” Jeffrey suggested. He glared at both of his wrists. “I need someone with working hands.” 

Batty wasn’t sure she was skilled enough for that, but she was willing to try. For Jeffrey. “I’d like that.” 

The idea seemed to comfort Jeffrey. So he couldn’t play at the moment. That was okay. He could still _write_ music; he just needed a little assistance. Batty longed to give it to him. She wished she could transport a piano right there into the hospital room. A little one would do, but alas that was no more possible than a full grand piano. She would have to wait. 

“Do you have any updates about your vocal competition?” asked Jeffrey. “It’s what, three weeks away now?”

Batty had forgotten all about the Josh Howard Vocal Competition. “I don’t think I’m doing it anymore.”

Jeffrey looked horrified. “You have to! You were so excited.” 

Nervous was more like it. She had barely discovered that she could sing, competing already seemed foolish. Jeffrey had only just managed to convince her to enter, and then he’d gone missing. It was like a sign from the heavens that she was not meant to perform. Or perhaps a warning from hell. 

“I can’t,” Batty insisted. She was more certain of that the longer that she thought about it. “It doesn’t feel right. I can’t think about that now.” 

“Because of me?” 

Batty nodded. And Skye. Her sister would not rely on Batty to support her, but Batty was still there for her. Despite the fact that she was probably last on Skye’s list, maybe even lower than Mrs. Tifton, though Batty couldn’t be sure. _That_ relationship was about to take an interesting turn, that much was clear. Whether it would be good or bad had yet to be determined. If the hug Mrs. Tifton had given Skye had meant anything, it was that Jeffrey’s mother was intent on making it a good one. Batty hoped that Skye would at least be open to the possibility. 

“That’s exactly why you have to,” said Jeffrey. He was a lot more confident about that than Batty was. He sighed and ran his hand through his hair. Batty was struck by how tired he looked. She didn’t know why that surprised her. Five days of hell would drain anyone. Five whole days and one additional night. He was beyond exhausted. 

“Do it for me,” Jeffrey pleaded. He put his heart and soul behind that request. He had always been her biggest supporter, surpassing even her father and Rosalind, but this was personal. He really did mean for _him_. “Batty, I don’t want all of you worrying and putting your lives on hold because you’re waiting on me. It makes me feel damaged.” 

She wanted to say, “you are,” but she thought better of it. She resisted the urge to scan her gaze over all of his injuries. She didn’t have to look to know they were there. 

“Treat me normally, that’s all I want,” said Jeffrey. “I’m tired of being a victim. Please, do the competition. Give me something else to focus on.” 

She couldn’t tell him no, not after that. “I don’t even know what to sing,” she said. She supposed she was willing if it would help him, but she wasn’t exactly warming up to the idea. 

“Did you listen to _Crossroads?_ That Tracy Chapman album I gave you?” Jeffrey asked. 

Naturally, he would have an instant idea. Jeffrey knew how to get her out of every one of her musical ruts. She had listened to that record nonstop for several days. Tracy Chapman’s voice was so deep and sultry, Batty couldn’t get enough of it. To sing with such raw emotion and vulnerability was more than a dream for her. It was a fantasy. 

“What about something off of that?” Jeffrey suggested. “You sing best in the key of C, right?” 

She did. Definitely. 

_“_ "A Hundred Years," maybe?” 

The idea came so easily to him. He was a wizard. Batty had spent hours combing through her records in search for the perfect song, and she had come up with nothing. She’d never even considered Tracy Chapman. Jeffrey had come up with that in seconds. Of course, he could readily maneuver around her endless sea of insecurities. Batty had yet to develop that talent. She would love to sing "A Hundred Years," that is, if she could perform it without butchering the work of such a melodious goddess. That was the million dollar question Jeffrey was ignoring. 

“I don’t know if my voice is strong enough for that,” she told him. 

“Sing it for me, I’ll tell you.” 

Batty took a deep breath as nerves rose up in her chest. Even in front of Jeffrey, she got a little performance anxiety. Who was she kidding? Competing? She’d pass out on stage. 

_“Baby, sweet baby, won’t you please_

_Come on back home to me_

_I’ve been so lonely_

_These few days feel like a hundred years”_

Jeffrey listened to her intently with his fingers resting pensively over his mouth. A smile peeked out from behind his hand. Batty was encouraged. She sang the first part of the chorus. 

_“How you make me worry baby_

_How you make me worry about you_

_Here I am I’m knowing_

_That I can’t live without you”_

Jeffrey dropped his hand so that his smile was on full display for her. “Practice that for the next few weeks and you’ll win.” 

He was so sure of that, it boosted Batty’s confidence a little. To be sure, he was biased. She wouldn’t win, but she was fine with that. As long as she didn’t make a fool of herself, she would be happy, maybe even proud. 

Before that, however, there was another underlying issue that had to be dealt with. “They might not even let me compete. I was supposed to meet with them on Saturday, but I didn’t show. I didn’t even call.” 

Jeffrey didn’t seem too concerned. “You had other stuff to worry about. They’ll understand.”

He said that so casually, “other stuff” didn’t seem to refer to his disappearance, though needless to say, it did. On Saturday, Dexter had called. The vocal competition had flown from Batty’s memory, never to return. If Jeffrey hadn’t mentioned it, it probably would have been months before one of the Penderwicks (likely Jane) would have remembered and suggested that she enter again the next year. 

“I guess I could call and ask,” said Batty. She hated that idea. Nothing made her anxious quite like talking on the phone, especially to adults. 

“Go see if you can borrow a phone from one of my parents,” said Jeffrey. 

Batty got up from the bed and willed her hands to stop shaking. She hoped Alec was there. Mrs. Tifton still frightened her. Batty poked her head outside to ask. The first person she noticed was Skye. She really hadn’t gone far. She was sitting in a chair directly beside the door. She hugged her legs to her chest. She glanced at Batty, then fixed her gaze back on the floor. Her face was streaked with tears. Moments ago, she had been so at ease, close to true happiness. Being separated from Jeffrey by only a single wall had flipped the suffering switch inside of her and brought all of it back. It was almost enough for Batty to tell her to go inside to be with him. Almost. She allowed herself a few more minutes of selfishness.

Blessedly, Alec was there. He did not frighten her, although he was deep in conversation with Mrs. Tifton and Iantha, and interrupting them did. The rest of the group had wandered off to heaven’s knew where. 

“Excuse me?” Batty said meekly. She hoped they wouldn’t find her intrusion too rude. She did her best not to be. 

The three adults stopped talking and looked at her. 

“Jeffrey is asking for your phone.” 

Alec fished it from his pocket and handed it to her without asking why. “How is he?”

“The same. He says he’s great.”

Alec smiled a little and rubbed his hand across his forehead. He looked nearly as tired as Jeffrey. “He’s a trooper.” 

“Will you hurry up?” said Skye. Batty knew that Skye had intended that to be ferocious and intimidating, but it wasn’t. She was begging her. Batty promised that she would. 

Her legs were wobbly as she walked back to Jeffrey. Her palm was so sweaty that Alec’s phone nearly slipped from her hand. She told herself to grow up and stop being a coward. 

“You want me to call them now?” She clarified. Her dread was still firmly intact. 

“Don’t worry,” he said, noticing her nerves. It would be impossible for him not to. “I’ll do it.”

“Really?” Batty was immeasurably relieved. 

Jeffrey held out his hand and Batty placed the cell phone in his open palm. “Yikes,” he said, staring at the shattered screen with raised eyebrows. He flicked a loose piece of glass away with his thumb. “But yeah. I got kidnapped, they can’t tell me no. _And_ I sound awful. Bonus.” 

That was a weirdly positive spin on things. Jeffrey was nothing if not optimistic. Batty was happy to see that hadn’t been completely taken away from him. 

He looked up the director’s contact information and dialed the number. He put the call on speaker to allow Batty to listen. The woman answered after the third ring. 

“This is Amelia Rose.” 

Jeffrey lay back and set the phone on his chest. “Hi, you’re the director of the Josh Howard Vocal Competition, right?” 

“That’s correct. I am.” 

“My name is Jeffrey Tifton. I’m calling on behalf of Elizabeth Penderwick.” 

Somehow, Batty was still anxious, despite not being the one speaking. 

“Jeffrey Tifton…” Amelia Rose paused while she tried to place the name. Batty knew when she had. There was a noticeable shift in her tone. “Wow, hello. What can I do for you?”

“This might sound silly, but I wanted to call to make sure Elizabeth can still participate. I know she missed a mandatory meeting, and she’s too sweet to ask, but I’m hoping you can make an exception for her.” 

Too shy, not sweet. Batty liked sweet better, even if it was a white lie.

“There was a lot going on, with me and her sister going missing and everything. I think it would help all of us to have something fun to look forward to.” 

Jeffrey smiled, amused with himself, and winked at Batty. He really was milking that for all it was worth, and he wasn’t being subtle about it.

“It’s so kind of you to call. You’re a sweetheart,” said Amelia Rose. “I completely understand. Of course she can participate it. We would be delighted to have her.” 

“That’s great! Thank you so much.” 

“Sure, darling. And maybe it’s not my place, but I was so happy to hear you both returned safely. I’m sorry that happened to you. I hope we’ll see you at the competition.” 

“Thank you. You will. Enjoy the rest of your day.” 

“You too. Tell Elizabeth we’ll call her soon, alright? Bye-bye.” 

Jeffrey hung up and dropped the cell phone beside him on the bed. “And that’s how it’s done.” 

“I don’t know how you can do that,” said Batty, a little in awe of him for being so responsible and adult-like. “I hate phones.” 

“Don’t be fooled, they terrify me,” said Jeffrey. “My heart is racing. That was kind of a rush.”

He held Batty’s hand over his chest to prove it to her. He wasn’t lying. That made her feel a little better about herself. She supposed her fears weren’t completely crazy. Jeffrey would have to teach her how to hide them so well. She never would have guessed he’d been nervous. 

“You know, you’ve really cheered me up,” said Jeffrey. “Thanks.” 

Batty could feel herself glowing. He seriously was the single greatest person to ever walk the earth. Except for maybe Jesus or Gandhi. Maybe Mozart. She kind of worshipped him, and she wasn’t even embarrassed to admit it. 

She so wished she could stay there with him, happy and comfortable until she died, but of course, something would come along to ruin that for her. This time, “something” ended up being the sound of Skye shouting curses from the hallway. Jeffrey and Batty looked at each other. She sighed. Her sister could be _such_ a killjoy. 


	37. Chapter 37

Jeffrey had said to let it go. Oops. In Skye's defense, the yelling was an accident. She lost her temper.

Mr. Penderwick returned with Jane, Rosalind, and Churchie. Evidently, they had hunted down a vending machine. Nick and Tommy were nowhere to be found; likely they were still at said vending machine.

Skye got to her feet and crossed her arms. "Let's talk about what you said."

Mr. Penderwick's smile fell from his face. "Skye, I know you're upset with me, but before you get angry, I want you to know that I am equally upset with myself."

Too late. She was angry. There was no stopping that.

"That wasn't everything, was it?" she accused. "You said something worse, I can feel it."

Mr. Penderwick glanced nervously between Skye and Jeffrey's parents. He didn't deny it. Alec puffed out his cheeks and exhaled, looking like he was dreading what was coming next. Skye was already too far gone to stop herself.

"What was it, then?" She wasn't shouting yet, but her voice was already attempting to rise. She fought that while she could. "Dexter should have just killed him and been done with it? Or that I should have let him die? How dare Jeffrey put me in danger, right? Were you hoping Dexter was too busy torturing him to hurt me?"

Mr. Penderwick flinched. Skye wasn't proud of it, but that satisfied her.

"You're my daughter," said Mr. Penderwick. "All I wanted was to get you back."

"Well here I am, but congratulations. Now I hate you," Skye snarled. "I fucking hate you."

Mr. Penderwick looked like she'd slapped him. She might as well have.

Jane took Mr. Penderwick's hand. "Leave him alone, Skye. I've already done this."

Skye turned her glare on Jane, surprised that her sister had the guts to challenge her at a time like this. She was fuming, but she was also a little grateful to Jane. It was comforting to know she couldn't get away with everything just because she was a victim.

"So have I," said Iantha, backing up Jane. "He didn't have to apologize to you or to Jeffrey, but he wanted to because he feels terrible. Don't punish him for that."

"Be quiet, I'm not done," Skye snapped. Yikes, she was so out of control. "Do not fucking stick up for him."

"Skye, stop swearing," said Rosalind. "We're in a hospital."

"And I am going to fucking swear!" Skye shouted. A couple of nurses glanced over uncomfortably, then busied themselves with their work. She was making a scene. Whatever. "Dexter was _killing_ him, and you were, what? Hoping for that? That's disgusting. I don't even know you."

Mr. Penderwick's eyes were full of tears, but Skye felt no guilt.

"I was scared, I thought I might lose you," he said. His face was full of pain, he pleaded with her to forgive him. "I never meant it. I love Jeffrey, you know that."

"Not enough," Skye spat. "You didn't have to see what he did to him. You don't get how bad it was and how fucked up it makes you."

"I know. I was ignorant and a fool," said Mr. Penderwick miserably. "I will never forgive myself."

"Good. You don't deserve to."

"Skye!" said Jane. She wrapped herself around Mr. Penderwick's waist. She was crying. Skye wanted to hit her.

"He saw what I saw," said Alec. "What Dexter sent me. Skye, he was so upset. Almost as much as I was."

Was no one on her side? She wasn't being unreasonable. Even Mrs. Tifton, who Skye had been certain would feel the same way she did, was infuriatingly silent. Her face was deadly blank. Unreadable.

Skye rounded on Alec. "Really, you too? Are you serious?"

Alec raised his hands in surrender and backed down.

Skye turned back to her father. "Did you ever consider that maybe Jeffrey was protecting me? The amount of times he told Dexter to kill him. What the fuck is wrong with you? You make me sick. I will never—"

Skye was cut off when the door flew open behind her. She whirled around and her stomach flipped. Jeffrey was out of bed. Batty was under his arm to support him. He fell away from her and into the doorframe. He clenched it until his knuckles turned white. He could hardly hold himself up.

"Skye." He panted heavily. The short trip across the hospital room had strained him like a 100 meter dash. "I told you to let it go."

Skye gaped at him. What was he thinking? What was _Batty_ thinking? She chose to focus on that. "He can't walk, Batty! Are you out of your mind?"

Batty hid behind Jeffrey. He blocked her from Skye's sight.

"Stop," Jeffrey wheezed. He'd barely gotten the word out before his knee buckled. His hand slipped from the doorframe. Batty tried to catch him, but she wasn't strong enough. She stumbled, and Jeffrey fell from her arms. She'd slowed his fall, but he still hit the ground hard. He groaned and attempted to sit up, then clutched at his ribs. His cry thundered in Skye's ears. She dropped to her knees beside him.

"Alec, get the nurse!" said Mrs. Tifton urgently. She started forward but stopped when Jeffrey waved her back. He smiled momentarily at Churchie, then fell back and closed his eyes, like blocking his sight would stop the pain too.

"Are you okay?" Skye asked, her voice dangerously squeaky and high. Jeffrey weakly nodded, breathing hard like a triathlon athlete. Skye scowled at Batty. "Do you see what you did?"

Jeffrey put his hand on Skye's leg. "Stop it," he repeated, placid yet authoritative.

"But—" Skye started to protest.

He didn't give her the chance. "No, Skye. I don't want this from you."

"But he said—"

"I don't care. It doesn't bother me." He gripped her arm. "But this? This bothers me."

Tears pricked behind her eyes. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to."

He gave her a sad smile. He pulled her arm, so she leaned down. He whispered in her ear, "It's not me you should be apologizing to."

Skye glanced at Mr. Penderwick. No. She wasn't sorry. She shook her head at Jeffrey. When her voice failed her, she mouthed, "I can't."

"Okay," he said quietly. A strand of her hair had worked its way into her mouth. Jeffrey brushed it back with his little finger. "But stop."

A flood of silent tears broke through Skye's defensive barrier. She stood to tell her father to leave her alone for a while. She needed to cool off. She turned and smacked into Mr. Penderwick's chest. With nothing else to do, she hugged him. She cried harder.

"I hate you," she sobbed. She hugged him tighter and balled his shirt in her fists.

"I know, honey," Mr. Penderwick murmured. He stroked the back of her head. "I know."

Skye was so angry with him that she despised him with her entire soul. Yet somehow, she knew with absolute certainty that she loved her father more than she ever had. She couldn't make sense of that. She sobbed until her tear ducts shriveled and dried out. Mr. Penderwick rubbed her back to soothe her.

"I'm so proud of you," he said. He kissed her head.

How could he be? She'd been so cruel to him. Her father understood everything. It made her furious. She wanted to scream at him, but she couldn't leave the comfort of his arms.

She only did when Jeffrey's nurse came running. Skye knelt beside him again, feeling protective, despite knowing that the nurse would only help.

"What are you doing? What happened?" the nurse demanded, somewhat frantic.

"I'm fine," said Jeffrey. He tried for a smile.

"Why are you out of bed? Did you fall?"

"A little," Jeffrey admitted. "But really, I'm fine. Can you check on me later, please?"

The nurse hesitated.

 _"Please,"_ he said. "Not now."

Sometimes, it was against the laws of the universe to tell Jeffrey Tifton no. It was like divine intervention, outside forces just would not allow it. The nurse exhaled and nodded. She stood back only a few feet, refusing to let him out of her sight until he was safely in his room.

Mr. Penderwick took a tentative step closer. "Jeffrey, I—"

"Don't say it, sir," said Jeffrey. "You don't have to be sorry for being a good dad."

Mr. Penderwick complied. He said nothing.

"Because you are. One of the best. I'll knock some sense into her, I promise." Jeffrey flicked Skye's forehead. She swatted his hand away, but she almost laughed.

Mr. Penderwick shook his head. "Where did you two come from?" He looked at Jeffrey's parents. "Certainly not us."

"We're a mess," Mrs. Tifton agreed. She wiped away remnants of tears.

"The messiest of messes," said Mr. Penderwick.

"An absolute disaster," said Alec.

Jeffrey laughed. He slid himself back into his room without getting up from the floor. He tugged at Skye's hand. "Come on. Let's talk."

When Skye shut the door to give them privacy, Jeffrey said, "What happened to back in five minutes?"

"I got a little heated," said Skye.

"I'll say," said Jeffrey. "Help me up?"

Skye wrapped his arm over her shoulders and together they limped back to the bed. It was difficult to get him back on the mattress. Skye carefully lifted his broken leg like it was made of crumbling sand, and still Jeffrey grit his teeth and fought back a shout. He grabbed at his jaw again.

"I think I need dental surgery," he said. "He knocked out a tooth."

"Bitch," Skye hissed. She shoved away thoughts of Jeffery being turned into a punching bag.

"What happened out there, Skye?" Jeffrey asked. "I thought everything was okay. Didn't you hear me tell your father it wasn't a problem?"

"Yes," Skye grumbled. "But it still was for me. I only wanted to talk to him, I swear. I didn't know I would get that mad about it."

"You should have," said Jeffrey. He stroked her cheek with his thumb. "Why don't you ever listen to me?"

Skye wished that she could have. Letting it go would have been so much easier. It hadn't been possible. Anger had stewed inside of her, heating up with each passing minute until it was white hot. She felt better now that she had expelled it. Her temper was her biggest crutch. She shouldn't have had to hurt her father. She hated herself for that as much as she, shamefully, still hated him.

"I can't stand that he said those things," she said.

"I appreciate you," said Jeffrey. "But how about you take a break from defending me for a while?"

Skye kissed him. "I'm always going to defend you."

"Hey, I'm not entirely incapable of it myself, okay?"

She sometimes thought he was. He was so gracious and trusting, she'd often feared he would allow himself to be taken advantage of, particularly by the woman he married. His ex-girlfriend hasn't been any comfort. Skye still wasn't sure she'd liked Jeffrey as much as she'd like his millionaire mom. He'd taken too long to figure that out. She used to be terrified that he would end up with someone exactly like his mother, statistically that was likely. She didn't want him to be miserable, or to end up like Alec – alone, with only his music. He deserved so much more than that. Now, Skye was confident that _she_ would one day be the woman lucky enough to marry Jeffrey. It was a ridiculous thought. It was so soon, and they were so young, but she honestly believed that to be true. The relationship they were starting would end when they died. After all they had been through, there was nothing either of them could do that would be worth breaking it. She felt better knowing that; it gave her one less thing to worry about. Jeffrey was different with her. He called her out on all of her crap. Like telling her father he disgusted her. With her anger fading, she knew that she would later find it in herself to apologize for that.

"I'm not sure you can," she teased him. "You're way too nice."

"You're too aggressive. Calm down, don't you get tired?"

One thousand percent, yes. "Can't do it," she said. "Not having a temper, what's that like?"

"Serene," said Jeffrey. He rubbed at his shoulder, then recoiled and lay his sprained wrist flat on the bed.

"You okay?" Skye asked.

"Yeah, it's nothing."

No it wasn't. Skye abruptly remembered how Dexter had hung Jeffrey from the ceiling when he'd dragged her out to supposedly die. She hadn't given any thought to how sore that must have made him.

"Sit up," she said. She wanted to help, but she didn't know where to grab him without hurting him.

Jeffrey listened, though she could tell it was a struggle for him. His fall had not made things any better. Skye climbed behind him and fit him between her knees. She lay her hands over his shoulders, gently working her fingers to massage out the tension.

Jeffrey reflexively hunched his shoulders, then relaxed. He grazed her hand. "Thank you."

Skye bent to kiss his cheek. His muscles were hard like cement. She dug her thumb in deeper. The knot was stubborn. Jeffrey groaned.

"Sorry," said Skye.

"It's a good pain." He tensed again. "I think."

Skye eased up the pressure. Admittedly, she had no idea what she was doing. "Did he ever let you down?" She asked as she started pushing her fingers harder into his skin.

"No. He did not," said Jeffrey once he had reaccustomed himself to Skye's massaging enough to speak.

Skye's hands stopped moving. She didn't know why she had expected a different answer. "That was _three days."_

"That feels about right," Jeffrey muttered. He leaned back into Skye's chest. She draped her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek a second time.

Jeffrey was learning fast that physical touch was Skye's love language. He could handle that just fine. It was strange for her to be so tender with him. He hoped he never got used to it. It made his heart flutter with welcomed nerves. He liked that.

There was a small part of him that worried that given time, once he was healed and everything was back to normal (rather, once the new normal had been established – he wasn't so foolish to hope that things would ever be quite the same), Skye would decide she'd gotten her emotions mixed up and she didn't feel for him the way she'd thought she did. She'd realize she wasn't the relationship type, just as she'd always thought. Another part of him found those insecurities amusing. He trusted Skye. He would give her his heart and let her break it, if that's what it came down to.

"What are you thinking about?" Skye asked.

That was a personal question – _also_ very unlike her. It was interesting how much she'd changed in only a few days. He supposed torture could do that to a person. He liked this version of Skye; he wasn't yet sure he would like how he'd been changed. That thought terrified him, but he wasn't alone. Skye would have her own demons to battle. He would never wish that on her, but he did find comfort in that fact. Miraculously, they'd made it this far. Together, they could survive the second step. Recovery was its own bitter war.

"You," Jeffrey admitted. "This." He aligned his palm with Skye's and curled his fingers through hers. "I can't wrap my head around it."

"Because I was so pissed at you for asking me out before?"

"That'll be why, yeah."

Skye rested her chin on his shoulder. It felt better. Both his shoulders had loosened up so that he felt less like there were rocks embedded into his flesh. He could feel her jaw moving as she spoke.

"I got over that. I'll call you my boyfriend and everything."

Jeffrey's heart did another somersault. "That sounds so weird it almost makes me uncomfortable."

He felt her smiling. "It was weird to say. We'll have to practice," she said. "Although, I do have a few ground rules."

Jeffrey patted Skye's arm. "I bet I know them."

"Let's hear it then, wise guy."

"Alright." He'd thought a lot about what would make Skye happy. Truth be told, he'd figured it out years ago. "No pet names. I'm not going to call you "babe" or "Skye Blue."

"A strong beginning," Skye approved. "Say that once and this is over."

"Duly noted," said Jeffrey. A grin spread across his face. "No flowers, ever. No anniversaries either, and Valentine's Day is _not_ a holiday. I'll stay away from candlelit dinners and all that romantic stuff. You know what, if it's Jane-approved, it's not happening. That will cover it." He laughed. There was something oddly intimate about this anti-intimacy conversation. "No couple costumes, no couple anything actually. And no cheesy compliments. I'll never say you're the light of my life or any of that crap."

"Pretty good," said Skye. "Anything else?"

"No good morning texts. Oh, and your contact in my phone? Staying Skye Penderwick. Really not much is changing except now I get to kiss you."

"Yep, that's the deal."

"I can live with that." He wanted to twist around to kiss her, but it hurt to rotate his spine. Later.

"You really are the perfect guy."

"Well, I _have_ known you for a while." Jeffrey looped his arms around Skye's legs and wrapped his fingers under her knees. He could feel her pulse. A new upsurge of relief rippled inside him. That happened every few minutes. He had been _so_ convinced Skye had been murdered. He hadn't allowed himself to hope otherwise – another thing Dexter could be proud of. That one didn't bother Jeffrey. It was the only thing Dexter had done that didn't humiliate him when he thought about it. He didn't care that he'd been duped, that Dexter had relished in causing him a mountain of unnecessary pain. All that mattered was he had been wrong, and Skye still had a living, beating heart.

Jeffrey glanced at the TV hanging the upper right corner of the room. Instantly, he wished he hadn't. He didn't like seeing his and Skye's faces plastered on the screen, but now that he was looking, he couldn't stop. It was national news. George Stephanopoulos was reporting their story. _There_ was something Jeffrey never thought he'd see.

"That is unreal," he said, flicking his finger at the TV.

"Get used to it, we're everywhere," said Skye. "I had four people outside tell me they were happy that I'm back safe. Everyone else just stares."

"Fun," said Jeffrey. He grabbed the remote and turned up the volume, intrigued as much as he was uncomfortable. _Breaking News: Missing 17 Year Old Jeffrey Tifton Found Alive, Suspect Arrested_ was written in bold lettering at the bottom of the screen. Another thing he never thought he'd see.

George Stephanopoulos was saying, _"Tonight, missing teen Jeffrey Tifton is alive and safe. Five days after he disappeared, Jeffrey turned up 65 miles from the Massachusetts home where he and Skye Penderwick were taken."_

This was without a doubt one of the strangest things Jeffrey had ever experienced. He was beginning to realize that the news had always seemed more like fiction than reality. You watch it, maybe you feel bad for the people in the story, but you don't really understand the gravity or longevity of their suffering until you are the one the newscasters are talking about. Even now, watching his own story, it seemed more like someone else's experience, despite all the memories he had corroborating what was said on TV. The Jeffrey Tifton they were talking about felt like an entirely different human being.

"We really got kidnapped," said Jeffrey, watching as a police officer publicly commended him for his bravery. "That happened."

"I know. What the fuck, right?"

Jeffrey bristled. He hated that word. The way Dexter had used it effectively ruined it for him forever. He wouldn't ask her not to say it, but Jeffrey had a good feeling he never would again. Dexter _had_ washed his mouth out, but it wasn't the soap that had done it. It was when he'd talked about Skye. He had a better understanding of why it was considered a "dirty" word. It was. It was vile.

 _"Police say Jeffrey and Skye were alone in Arundel Hall, the Tifton's home in Great Barrington, Massachusetts, when this man—"_ Dexter's mugshot lit up the screen. Jeffrey couldn't ascertain what that made him feel. Fear, disgust, further embarrassment? All of the above? Who knew? He certainly didn't. _"Thirty-nine year old Dexter Dupree broke inside. Kitchen surveillance cameras captured the whole thing."_

Skye sat up straighter. Jeffrey slid from her chest and was forced to reposition himself. "They're not going to show—okay. Yeah, they are," said Skye.

Jeffrey didn't watch beyond when he knelt in front of Dexter, whose knife was at Skye's throat. Out of all that had happened – everything that had absolutely terrified him – that one made top three. By then, he'd already accepted death.

_"You are watching every parent's worst nightmare play out in real time. Seventeen year old Jeffrey Tifton, taken from his home, kidnapped and abused for five grueling days. Tonight, the suspect is behind bars."_

Jeffrey looked back at the TV. A second anchor who he did not recognize asked George Stephanopoulos if they knew anything more about the suspect.

George said, _"Well, we do know that the suspect is confirmed to be Jeffrey's_ stepfather. _According to police, last month Brenda Tifton filed for divorce from Dupree, citing cruel and abusive treatment as grounds for separation. He had remained estranged from the family prior to this attack."_

"He had to be watching the house," said Jeffrey as a commercial began. "I was thinking about that earlier. My mother hovered a lot after he attacked me, the first time I mean. I hadn't been alone in the house before Friday. I was always with her or Churchie. I never even went anywhere by myself. Except for Batty's birthday, and that was so soon after I don't think he was…" Jeffrey wasn't sure how to finish that thought.

"Ready for you yet?" Skye offered.

"Uh huh." It made Jeffrey nauseous. Dexter had been out buying tools and chains to torture him with, and he'd been living his life like normal, worrying about girl-problems and thinking getting shoved down the stairs _once_ would be the extent of his experience with violence. "How did he even find that place?"

"I had nothing to do while you were in surgery," said Skye. "I found it on Zillow. It's been for sale for 234 days."

"So the trailer wasn't his then," said Jeffrey. "I had so many questions about how he got that thing in the middle of the woods."

"I still have questions," said Skye. "They had to have planted trees around it. There's no other explanation."

"That's suspicious. Maybe they're freaks too."

"Maybe Dexter posted something saying 'hey, I'm a prospective kidnapper, anyone know a secluded spot?' And they were like 'we've got the perfect place for you. Come check it out.'"

Jeffrey breathed a short laugh. He liked how he could joke about it with Skye. It was almost certainly unhealthy, but making light of the situation made it easier to handle. It gave him a brief, relieving moment of freedom from adversity. Of course, when the moment passed and his trauma returned, it hit him that much harder. That was probably the unhealthy part.

Rousing music signaled the return of the news program. George was back, saying, _"We're learning about the dramatic rescue of a 17 year old boy in Connecticut after a harrowing kidnapping right out of a home."_ He turned excitedly to his fellow anchor. _"Take a look at this video, it says it all – Jeffrey Tifton, held captive for five days, reunited with fellow abductee Skye Penderwick after days of separation following her safe return early Tuesday morning. You don't want to miss this."_

"Oh god," Skye groaned.

This time, when the station put up the video of them, Jeffrey didn't look away.

_"A newly released video shows federal agents breaking into a locked shipping container. Inside, agents found Jeffrey Tifton and carried him outside where Skye Penderwick was waiting."_

On cue with the voiceover, Jeffrey watched himself being practically dragged from the trailer. His jaw fell open. The footage was dark and grainy, but it didn't hide much. "I look like a zombie. Do I still?"

"Kind of," said Skye.

Jeffrey shuddered. He feared the moment when he would finally get a look at his reflection. He soon stopped worrying about that. On screen, Skye was sprinting at him, tackling him and kissing him. Reliving that made him forget how to breathe. It had been the highlight of his whole life. There were no words to describe what it meant to him.

"Actually," said Skye. "I think I love that."

That summed up Jeffrey's opinion pretty well. "Me too. I want it."

Skye snorted. "Google yourself. It'll be the first thing that pops up."

The less famous anchor next to George said, _"That video is incredible – the resilience of those two teenagers. Wow. So great to see them happy and together."_

George said, _"Absolutely. A heartwarming conclusion to an otherwise tragic story. So rarely do we hear about such an outcome, this is wonderful."_

Jeffrey stopped paying attention. "They're going to make true crime documentaries about us, aren't they?"

Skye made a face. "That's how you know you've hit rock bottom."

Jeffrey imagined trending on Netflix and his vision blurred in a panic. The last thing he wanted was to find himself in front of cameras, describing to the world what he had been through. He hoped that would never happen, but he knew that eventually, it probably would. News stations and production companies wouldn't stop calling. One day he might change his mind. He might want to tell his story. Presently, he couldn't even fathom telling it to his parents. That knowledge would curse them. He didn't want to see the looks on their faces.

"Five days," he said. "It's what, Thursday?"

Skye nodded.

"And you left Tuesday?"

"Monday," she corrected. "I got to Arundel on Tuesday."

Jeffrey was floored. "You were only with me for _two_ days? It felt so much longer." To be fair, he'd been unconscious for probably half the time she was gone. Time doesn't really exist when you're a prisoner.

"Like I said, you were alone for three." Her tone was rich with bitterness.

"Can you do me a favor?" said Jeffrey softly. "Get it in your head that you didn't abandon me."

Skye sighed deeply. "I think I have."

"Good." Jeffrey focused on her breathing, her heartbeat, the warmth of her skin under his touch – everything that signaled that she was alive. "Because if I'd known you were safe, that would have changed everything for me."

Skye said nothing. She shifted out from behind him and stretched out on the mattress. One of her legs hung off the side. She pulled the bedsheet up to cover them both. They huddled together in melancholy silence. Jeffrey was in constant pain; it was impossible for him to reach actual comfort, but this was closest he'd gotten since Friday night. He kissed Skye's temple. It was still puffy and bruised.

Try as he might to control his thoughts, his mind drifted back to what Dexter had said about her. Nothing worse could be said about a person. Jeffrey would never tell Skye what Dexter had called her or what he'd fantasized about doing with her. He wouldn't forget it either. Ever. He would bare that burden alone. He wondered if there would be a time when he could look at her without his heart breaking.

A soft knock jarred him back to the present. He was grateful, he'd been making himself angry. He didn't want to be, but it could not be helped. He was furious and revolted, nonstop.

Churchie entered the room. Finally. He'd longed to see her, but he was tempted to pull the sheet over his head to prevent her from looking at him. He was glad at least that it covered most of his body. She could only see his face. Not that it mattered of course, he'd displayed himself openly for her earlier, collapsing just to demonstrate how fragile and wrecked he was.

It didn't take long for her to cry. He wished people would stop sobbing the literal second they saw him. It made him self-conscious. Churchie's arms were laden with a variety of light snacks, but she dropped them all as she surged toward him.

"Oh Jeffrey," she cried. Her tears were cold against his neck. There had been an awful lot of hugging going around, but even so, Jeffrey found himself startled by every fresh, affectionate touch. He was so used to being battered; his body expected any contact to be an assault. "You incredible, valiant boy. I love you, dear. So, so much."

Similarly, every time someone told him that, he had to wade through momentary confusion, like he'd forgotten what it meant. He still needed to be reminded that not everyone thought that he was worthless. George Stephanopoulos had said that communities across multiple New England states had joined together to search for him. He had a hard time understanding that. He wasn't special, just monstrously unlucky, and thousands of complete strangers supported him for it. That was more incredible than he was.

Churchie pulled Skye into the hug, sandwiching Jeffrey between them. "Both of you," she said. "I love you both."

The second hand circled around the clock eight times before Churchie let go. She wasn't done crying. Jeffrey didn't want to. He had spent so much time crying recently that he couldn't distinguish happy tears from those of despair and pain. They were caused by opposite sides of the same, horrible thing. They felt no different.

"Have you eaten anything? Did he feed you?"

Leave it to Churchie to be concerned about his diet. "Depends, do you count dirt?"

"No. _No._ Heavens, no," said Churchie, white and acrimonious.

"Then he didn't." Not since before Skye had left, and then he'd eaten so little he hardly counted it.

"Are you hungry? I brought things for you."

Jeffrey wasn't the slightest bit hungry, a side effect of starving to death. He did need to eat something, but the idea made him queasy. Churchie gathered up her snacks. Jeffrey accepted a bag of trail mix from her and reluctantly tore it open. He nibbled on that for a while so as not to disappoint her. His appetite seemed to be lost forever. He took the Gatorade she offered him with a much greater enthusiasm. His throat still burned and prickled from sock threads lodged in his esophagus.

Out of nowhere a sharp pain shot up Jeffrey's spine and he collapsed back on the bed, gasping. It faded as quickly as it had come. Maybe he shouldn't have sat up so frequently. How pathetic that he wasn't even ready for that.

"What about painkillers? They have given you some, haven't they?" Churchie fussed.

"Uh, no. I told the nurse I didn't want them." Jeffrey admitted. She was going to admonish him for that.

"What, why?" said Skye.

"Jeffrey! You must take them," said Churchie.

"I'm alright," Jeffrey promised. He really didn't mind any of the steady pain he was in. It kept him awake. His eyes were throbbing from exhaustion, but he would not submit to sleep until he physically had no choice. He would dream of Dexter. He already thought of him enough. No thanks. As long as no one was purposefully hurting him, he had nothing to complain about.

"Besides, OxyContin?" he added. "I'm not risking addiction on top of this. I have enough to recover from, I don't need a drug problem."

"This is what it's made for, you won't get addicted," Skye argued.

"Still." It was enough of a painkiller to have Skye in the bed with him.

"Please honey, take some Tylenol at least," said Churchie.

The nurse chose that moment to come to check on him. She assessed his vitals and frowned. "Do you know what your resting heart rate is on average?"

"80 something, probably," said Jeffrey.

"Right now it's 157," said the nurse. "Concerningly high. Do you know why that is?"

Jeffrey shrugged.

"You're dehydrated. I'm putting the IV back in. Don't pull it out again, okay? Do not."

Jeffrey was tempted to laugh, but the look on the nurse's face made him force it back. The nurse fit a tourniquet over his second arm and palpated for the vein.

"You hate me, don't you?" he said as she swiped alcohol over his elbow and readied the needle.

"I am worried about you," said the nurse. Jeffrey watched the needle slide into his vein, unphased. "More than you are, apparently."

"Sorry. I feel safe now, so it's hard for me to care about this part."

The nurse popped off the tourniquet and taped the tube to his arm. "Does that feel okay?"

Jeffrey nodded.

"You _are_ safe here, but you're not in the clear yet. No one is hurting you anymore, so don't hurt yourself, please."

"You've done that enough," Skye muttered in his ear. Jeffrey smiled a little, hiding the way that comment made his heart ache. He'd had plenty of reason to.

But now he didn't, so he supposed he could take the nurse's advice. "I'll behave, promise."

"Thank you," said the nurse. "And don't get up again. If I have to, I'm not above tying you down."

Jeffrey raised his eyebrows. "I'm pretty used to being tied to things."

The nurse blanched and covered her mouth. "Oh my god, I'm sorry, hon. I forgot. That was so stupid."

Jeffrey wasn't bothered. "No, sorry. That was a really bad joke. I like that you forgot." 

The nurse decided to awkwardly move on. "Has anything been bothering you? Hurting a little extra, maybe?"

He asked for Tylenol to appease Churchie, then told her about his sudden spinal pain. The nurse promised she had a back brace ready for him once he had successfully been administered two bags of saline. Apparently he had fractured part of his back, as if he needed more broken bones to heal from. He was so not looking forward to that.

It was his wrists that upset him the most. He had played it down in front of Batty, but he was devastated by that particular break. Many piano players _did_ come back from broken wrists, but just as many of them never quite returned to their full potential. He didn't know what he'd do if that happened to him. He needed music to get through this. Without it, he just might, as long last, lose his mind.

* * *

**A/N: I watched like an hour's worth of actual abduction news coverage and just tweaked the wording to fit this story because I am so not a journalist. I think I'm going to hell for that.**

**Also I'm just gonna be completely honest, love Churchie but I have forgotten about her like four times**


	38. Chapter 38

"Seriously, how can you eat so much?" said Rosalind as she watched Tommy open his fourth bag of chips. "This is extremely unhealthy."

Tommy shrugged. "Probably, but we're in a hospital, so it's fine."

Rosalind snatched the bag from him. "That doesn't mean you should make yourself sick."

"Hey, give it back," Tommy protested.

"Nope." Rosalind stuck her hand in the bag. It was hers now.

Tommy grabbed for his chips, but Rosalind held them out of his reach. A couple fell to the floor, so he picked them up and popped them in his mouth.

Rosalind smacked his hand. "Gross."

Tommy grinned. "I have a strong immune system. I've trained it well."

"By eating off the floor?"

"Yep." He knocked Rosalind's arm and another chip flew from the bag and landed at her feet. "Do it. I'll give you five dollars."

"I don't want five dollars." Rosalind hid the chip under her shoe before Tommy could eat it too. He cracked open a Red Bull instead. "Tommy! Those are so bad for you. What did you do, buy everything in the vending machine?"

"Sorry, Mom," said Tommy with a laugh. "And yeah, pretty much."

"You are not allowed to call me 'Mom,'" said Rosalind with a bit of a shudder.

Tommy conceded that point. It was way too weird. He stole back his bag of chips.

"Just let me stress eat," he said before Rosalind could reprimand him again for his unhealthy habits. "How's Jeffrey doing?"

Rosalind didn't know how to answer that. Everyone else was waiting anxiously outside of Jeffrey's room. She and Tommy had strayed around the corner to escape all of their fretting. They were all struggling to figure out the best way to handle this. Jeffrey and Skye would want time alone together, but how much? When would it be intrusive to go back to see Jeffrey again, and when would they start wondering why no one had? It was impossible to balance. Everyone wanted to give them exactly what they wanted, but no one knew what that really was. And Rosalind had her own wants to consider. She wanted to hang in the room with them all day. She wanted to soak up how wonderfully at ease they were together, no longer fighting and instead looking like they had been a couple for years but were still no less in love with each other. She longed to tell Jeffrey again how worried she'd been about him and remind him of how insanely brave he was. Unless he was sick of hearing that. Then she would tell him something else, anything she could think of. She only wanted to be with him, and with Skye. Her sister had returned days ago, true, but it felt like Rosalind hadn't really gotten her back until Jeffrey was finally free as well.

"He's a lot worse than Skye," Rosalind finally said. "I don't understand it – how Dexter could hurt him like that. How anyone could hurt anyone like that, honestly, but especially Jeffrey."

"Don't try," Tommy advised. Her father had told Mrs. Tifton the same thing, but it was hard not to. The complete lack of reasoning behind Dexter's actions made them that much more difficult to deal with.

"He was happy, though. Completely himself, just...badly in need of a hospital." That was the least alarming way she could think to put it.

"I guess that's good." Tommy wadded up his empty bag and tossed it repeatedly in his hand.

"You should go see him," said Rosalind. He and Nick were the only two left that hadn't.

"I will. I'm just waiting a bit. I mean, we're kind of friends, but I barely know him. I want to give him time with the people he actually cares about." This time, when he tossed up his chip bag, he failed to catch it. He kicked it under his chair.

"That's sweet," said Rosalind. She stretched her arm under the chair to pick up his trash. She stuck it in the pocket of her leggings.

"If you say so. It just seems like the decent thing to do."

Rosalind crossed her legs in her chair and fiddled with her shoelaces. "Does it make you nervous?"

"Talking to him? A little, yeah. I don't know what to say."

Rosalind hadn't either. She'd rambled anxiously until Jeffrey had laughed at her and told her to relax. Tommy was more of the awkward silence type than he was a rambler. Rosalind babbled hopelessly. It had made for some interesting arguments between them.

"You were great with Skye," she pointed out. She hadn't been there, and Skye hadn't talked about it, but she knew it to be true. Of course he had been. Tommy was always great.

"That was different. We basically rescued her; I didn't have a choice."

"You did rescue her. Not basically," Rosalind corrected. "He'll want to talk to you as soon as he hears about that."

"That _definitely_ makes me nervous."

"Why?"

Tommy shrugged. He pulled a candy bar from his pocket. He really was stress eating. "I don't know, it's not something I'm proud of. It's not like we did anything. We just followed Dexter's directions." He finished his candy bar, thinking. "I guess Nick did, since he impressed Dexter on the phone, which is weird, but whatever. I'll take it."

"So he figured out he's not a cop?"

"He said 'congrats on a good game' or something like that. He was like 'here's your prize,' and it was Skye."

Rosalind shivered. That was repulsive, even if it had brought her sister home in one piece. Skye wasn't Nick's prize any more than she was Dexter's. Tommy looked equally disgusted.

Rosalind looped her arms through his. "Well I'm proud of you if you're not. I'm glad you were the ones that found her. I think it helped."

"I hope so. I tried, but I didn't know what I was doing. I have no idea what that was like for her. For either of them. Awful, obviously, but that doesn't mean anything."

For about the hundredth time, Rosalind thought about Skye's Tommy analogy. "Tell me how you'd fucking feel, Rosalind!" she had said. Rosalind felt a twinge of very real panic just imagining someone hurting Tommy. Once after a football game, a player from the opposing team (bitter that Tommy had knocked him on his ass the entire second half) had jumped him in the parking lot and decked him. If he'd been alone, Rosalind was certain Tommy would have fought him, but she had been there, already in the front seat of his car. He'd jumped into the driver's seat and locked the door, flipping the guy off until he tired of banging on the window and shouting "I'll get you at the next game, Geiger. Watch your fucking back." When he'd finally left him alone, Tommy had laughed it off and said, "He's so not going to get me." Rosalind had cried for twenty minutes. In the end, the joke was on that asshole. Getting punched had actually worked out quite well for Tommy. Rosalind had hooked up with him right there in the parking lot of Cameron High School. She never, ever did anything in a public place, but she had been so upset and so worried about him that she couldn't wait. Tommy's face had been bruised for a week. He'd been annoyingly proud of that – he said it proved that he'd annihilated that guy – but the swelling had made Rosalind cry three more times that week, not to mention how she had bawled her eyes out describing it later to Anna. Tommy was fond of that memory. Rosalind was not. She hated football. That had happened two years ago, and still it was her most vivid memory.

Even thinking about it now made her upset. If Tommy was ever put through what Jeffrey had been, it would kill her. Physically kill her. She wasn't tough like Skye; she'd be dead. She missed just last week when she had been innocent and unsuspecting enough to believe that such things would never happen to anyone she loved. Now, she feared it would happen to all of them.

"No one hates you, right?" she said before she could stop herself. Tommy was about to make so much fun of her.

He looked surprised. "I don't think so." He thought about it a little harder and chuckled. "Although, last year Kelsey Stein did say if I ever talked to her again she would go full Carrie Underwood on my car."

Rosalind loathed Kelsey Stein. She had a nasty habit of making bold moves on other girls' boyfriends. She thought it was a game. Most of the time, she got what she wanted. Senior year, she had latched onto Tommy. He had been absolutely unaware until she she'd caught him behind the bleachers at a pep rally and, according to Tommy, hiked her cheer skirt up to her waist. How cliché. Another reason Rosalind hated football. Kelsey had seemed to be attempting to work her way through the entire team before graduation. Rosalind had seethed with a ridiculous amount of jealousy, despite the fact that she did trust Tommy, and she believed him when he said he'd walked away. It was the kind of jealousy that made her feel possessive, not angry – though that hadn't been much better. It was true that the first thing Tommy said when he saw her was "I have to tell you something," and it was true that he had been so worried and apologetic that it was cute, but it was also safe to say that her night had still been wrecked. They'd cuddled on the Penderwick's couch, watching tv, and about every hour Rosalind had bolted up and shrieked, "Bitch!" That is, until Iantha had come downstairs to tell her to please stop doing so before "bitch" became Lydia's first word.

Kelsey had been less than impressed that she had flashed Tommy her underwear and he'd still turned her down. That didn't really happen to her. She had spread a rumor around the school that he had "frightened her" by cornering her and "out of nowhere" asking her to blow him. After that, Rosalind had elevated her insult from "bitch" to "lying, evil bitch." Hardly anyone had believed it, though Rosalind had witnessed Kelsey tearfully telling her elaborate story to a horrified, gullible group of freshmen cheerleaders. "She has no self-respect at all, it's pathetic." Rosalind had later fumed to Anna.

They both had sat behind Kelsey in their AP Biology class. Anna had told her that she next time she was horny, she should try for a guy less completely in love with his girlfriend. She might have better luck with assholes. Kelsey had spun around and snapped back, "Oh, please. Rosalind, you've been dating since middle school, you know he's bored." Anna had called her a skank and said that it was funny that he still wasn't bored enough to get with her. Then she'd smacked her and been suspended for two days. Skye had found the whole thing absolutely hilarious. Tommy had not. He'd been monumentally pissed off. It was kind of sweet. Just to prove he was not at all bored, he'd started being embarrassingly blatant and open about dating Rosalind. He kissed her during passing periods and was overall so touchy that teachers had gotten in the habit of saying, "Hands off, Mr. Geiger," whenever they saw him, even if Rosalind was nowhere around. She'd felt like she was living in a cheesy teen rom-com.

Needless to say, Kelsey Stein was not a fan of Tommy. She probably did hate him, but that was not the kind Rosalind was referring to.

"I don't mean that, though fuck her," she said. "You don't have real enemies, do you?"

"Nope, I'm a perfectly nice guy," Tommy laughed. "Rosy, what's up with you?"

Rosalind wished he was better at picking up on what she was saying before she had to explicitly lay it out for him. That way, she might feel like less of a complete numbskull. "Skye got in my head," she admitted. A slight blush rose to her cheeks. "I keep imagining you being hurt like Jeffrey. She told me to, so I could understand how she feels. Now I can't stop."

Tommy didn't make fun of her. He pecked her cheek. "I'm fresh out of lunatic stepdads, if that's what you're saying."

"Any crazy uncles?"

"Nope."

It didn't comfort her like it should have. She was still scared that some psycho would come for Tommy next. The world was evil; there were far too many bad people out there. "Please don't get kidnapped."

Tommy smiled, but he wasn't laughing at her. "I don't plan on it."

"And don't get murdered," said Rosalind. "Or even beat up."

"You're adorable," said Tommy. He kissed her. "I'll try."

That kiss was over much too soon for Rosalind. She pulled his face back to hers and permitted herself to forget her silly worries and just be happy that he was there. She didn't know what she would have done if Tommy hadn't come to Arundel with her. The possibilities were truly frightening. Most of the time, she felt like it was she who reined in Tommy (he had more than a few reckless tendencies), but he deserved more credit for all that he did for her too.

She tugged his lip with her teeth, then teased his mouth with a sliver of her tongue. She knew exactly what he liked. She was rewarded when he slipped his own tongue between her lips and she dissolved in a tingling warmth. She felt limited by sitting down. Still kissing him, she crawled from her chair and pushed it away with her leg. She had to break away when she pulled him to his feet (he was 6'3 and nine inches taller than she was), but it was only for a second. She used that time to catch her breath. She pressed his back into the wall and stretched up on her toes to kiss him again.

She had never been so forward. It was completely inappropriate, but for the first time ever, she didn't care. Even the deepest corners of her mind were silent and lacked any insecurity. She sucked at his face like the only other person in the room was Kelsey Stein. As immature as it had been, Tommy hadn't been the only one flaunting their relationship the second semester of senior year. If Kelsey was around, Rosalind was all over Tommy, just to rub rejection in that lying, evil bitch's face. It was embarrassing, but if Rosalind saw her now, she'd probably do it again. Prom had been an entertaining, beautiful disaster. Rosalind had even gone out of her way to say hello to Kelsey, before Tommy had dragged her off to dance with him. He'd captioned his prom photos "never a dull moment" and probably half of the senior class had asked Rosalind if he'd done it on purpose (he had). As the star of the football team Tommy was already too popular for his own good, but the drama had turned them into Cameron High School's it couple. Jane had called the circling gossip "supreme."

But it wasn't just homewrecking cheerleaders that had rendered Rosalind and Tommy incapable of keeping their hands off each other. They had known they were about to break up, and neither of them had been as ready for that as they had hoped. Rosalind thought that was why they had fought so much after they had split. It was easier to act like they hated each other. Then they could fake having a genuine reason for breaking up. Rosalind had liked to pretend that ending things had been all Tommy's idea, but the truth was, she'd dangled the concept in front of his face until he'd had no choice but to grab onto it. And just a month ago, when they'd almost gotten back together? She'd ruined that when she told him to go to hell, so that was entirely on her. It had been ridiculously moronic. Who decided college meant the end of high school relationships? And why date other people if you knew you were already in love?

Tommy's hands slid down her side and around her back. He drew her closer so that each of her curves fit flat against his body. One of Rosalind's hands dropped and traced lightly over his chest, then the side of his abs. The other she kept firmly around his neck. Her lungs were starting to burn. She gasped for air with each second that their lips parted, but she wasn't about to stop to breathe. She sighed with satisfaction as she felt him get hard. Her wandering hand jumped back to his face. She grabbed him harder than she meant to, but she was desperate for him and out of her own control. She wasn't drunk. She wasn't frantic and hysterical. Rosalind was coherent, and she knew exactly what she wanted. She hadn't slept with Tommy in almost a year; that was about to change. Though perhaps, not this second. Damn their public location. She had half a mind to hunt down a bathroom, a closet even. If he kissed her much longer, she would do it. Her body throbbed with desire. She both hated and delighted in her incapability to curb it. It left her trapped with a passion so intense that she hardly remembered who she was. Six years she had dated Tommy, and returning to him still knocked her off her feet.

She nibbled his lip again. He stuck his tongue so deep in her mouth he probably found her tonsils. Rosalind melted.

"Oh, so _this_ is what y'all are up to."

Curses rain down on Nick Geiger and blast him to hell. Rosalind painfully separated herself from Tommy. Nick was standing there with Jane, doubled over laughing.

"Told you," said Jane smugly.

Nick passed her an unspecified amount of cash.

Tommy squeezed Rosalind's arm to get her attention. "Wow," he mouthed, grinning and breathing hard. Rosalind flushed. They would finish that later. Her skin pulsated and twitched, shocked by the sudden, unwelcome lack of touch.

"Saucy, Rosalind," said Jane. She wriggled her eyebrows. "How scandalous."

"Shush." Rosalind had not yet regained the ability to breathe. Tommy slung his arm around her shoulders.

"Wild," he whispered before kissing her ear.

Careful that he was the only one that would hear her, Rosalind whispered back, "I'll show you wild later."

 _"Oh."_ He actually turned a little red.

Rosalind laughed. She did feel uncharacteristically crazy. If she was in the same mood that night, she might even try something new with him. She had shot down a few of his ideas in the past; she was open to reconsideration.

"Take a break, you two. Jeffrey wants to talk to us," said Nick. "Although, if you want me to tell him you're busy…"

"Shut up, Nick," said Tommy. "Jeffrey gets what he wants first."

Nick nodded in solemn agreement.

Rosalind could physically feel her lust being sucked out of her and scattered to atoms. Already she missed it. It was a much better feeling than worry. Thinking about Jeffrey did nothing but worry her. That, and make her want to cry.

Tommy pushed off the wall, his arm still around Rosalind. "Come with me," he said to her. "He won't mind."

"What, you scared of him?" asked Nick.

"Right now? Yeah," said Tommy.

Nick rubbed the back of his neck. "Fair enough."

Jane followed Nick and Tommy into Jeffrey's room as well. He hadn't said that he wanted to talk to them _alone._ When he saw them, Jeffrey propped himself up on his elbow, then winced and changed his mind. Skye lay next to him, both of them covered by a white bedsheet.

"Where have you two been?" he asked cheerfully, like he wasn't in great pain. As cheerfully as he could anyway, with his voice completely gone. It didn't deter him from speaking any. "I was starting to think Skye lied when she said you were here."

 _"I_ was waiting outside," said Nick. "Tommy, where were you again?"

"Shut up, Nick," said Tommy, for the second time in five minutes.

"Ri-ight, about to bang Rosy in the middle of the hallway."

Rosalind's face burned. She was starting to feel all the embarrassment and insecurity she hadn't felt before. "Nick!" she scolded fiercely. "It wasn't that bad."

"Oh it was pretty bad," said Jane. She clasped her hands over her heart. "I was so proud."

"Sorry to interrupt, then," said Jeffrey with a sly smile.

Rosalind kicked herself. The teasing would be relentless. Skye, thankfully, said nothing. She probably knew that if she did, Rosalind would fire back with at least _her_ PDA hadn't been televised. She didn't regret kissing Tommy like that, but she did regret not stopping two seconds before Nick and Jane came around the corner. She needed a sixth sense to warn her of impending intruders.

"You interrupted nothing," Rosalind assured Jeffrey.

"Not nothing," said Tommy. He winked at Rosalind.

She rolled her eyes. This was exactly why she preferred to avoid initiating things. He gave her shit for it whenever she did.

"But it's cool, don't be sorry," Tommy added.

"Oh I'm not. I'm stuck here a while, you've got time," said Jeffrey.

Tommy whispered in Rosalind's ear. "You know there's a janitor's closet down the hall, when we're done—"

Rosalind smacked his shoulder. "Moment's over Tommy. I'm not doing that."

Tommy laughed. "Damn. Bucket list."

"Too bad. You missed your chance."

Nick grinned. "Ouch. Rookie mistake."

Rosalind snaked her arm around Tommy's waist. The moment may be over, but she would still absolutely kick Nick out of their hotel room that night. So long as her father didn't put tape on their doors again. He'd done that when Tommy had joined the Penderwicks on a winter trip to Martha's Vineyard. But they had been only sixteen at the time; Rosalind thought that she was old enough now that the odds were in her favor that he wouldn't.

"So you're back together, then?" Jeffrey asked.

They hadn't officially discussed that, but Rosalind and Tommy both said yes at the exact same time.

Jeffrey was more than satisfied with that response. "Glad you've stopped being dumb."

"Same you for two, it looks like," said Tommy.

"Same for _her,"_ Jeffrey corrected. He jabbed his thumb at Skye. "I'm clearly the smartest one here."

Rosalind came to the sudden conclusion that she desperately wanted to double date. As much as she cared about Jeffrey, he had always been more of her sisters' friend than hers. On top of that, she was always looking for more of a reason to hang out with Skye. They were drastically different, but Rosalind was confident that the boys would get along well enough. She couldn't think of a more perfect situation. She'd always wanted to find a couple that she and Tommy could hang out with – Anna hadn't once dated a guy Tommy had even remotely liked.

"So, will you be praising their heroism, Jeffrey?" asked Jane. It was obvious that she wanted him to. "Our knights in shining armor?"

Tommy shifted uncomfortably. Rosalind gave him a quick squeeze. He was a hero to her.

"Not heroism, Jane," said Tommy.

"Nope, just luck," Nick agreed. "I, for one, am no knight."

"Uh, what?" said Jeffrey.

"That's not what he's doing. I haven't told him yet. He just wanted to say hi," Skye explained.

"That's lame. Why am I here then?" said Jane.

"Um because you missed me, and I am a joy to be around?" Jeffrey suggested.

Rosalind's heart constricted every time Jeffrey opened his mouth. It hurt her throat just to listen to him speak. His neck was so purple. She was reminded again that Dexter was a demon incarnate.

"Haven't told me what?" Jeffrey circled back.

"That's okay, it's not a big deal," said Tommy. "Honest."

He was so insistent on not taking credit. That touched Rosalind's heart. Most people would brag. They would want to be recognized, perhaps on TV.

Skye sighed and summed up the story in a rush. Tommy stared at the ground and shuffled his feet. He looked like he was being scolded. He'd always been modest, about everything but football. Football he bragged about.

Jeffrey's lips parted in surprise. "Wow," he said when Skye had finished. "I never really thought about it. How you're here. I guess I just figured you got away somehow."

Skye shook her head. "Remember? I said he choked me unconscious."

Rosalind stiffened so she wouldn't make a sound. Tommy tightened his arm around her shoulders. Choked her unconscious? She kept making the mistake of thinking that Skye couldn't possibly reveal anything worse, and then she did.

Jeffrey blinked away some of his disbelief. "That's true. I don't know what I thought. Not this." He looked from Nick to Tommy, still looking positively floored. "How did you find her?"

"We didn't really. He told me where she was," said Nick.

"O-kay. Can't say I saw that coming." Jeffrey was even more confused.

"Yeah we didn't either. Kind of thought we were driving out to find her body," said Nick.

"How cheery," said Jane bitterly.

"He liked Nick for some reason," said Tommy. "For acting like a police lieutenant instead of an army one."

"Isn't that a crime?" said Jeffrey.

"I don't know, I didn't _say_ I was a cop."

"Pretty sure it's still illegal."

"Yeah well, maybe they'll arrest me, and I can shank Dexter in the lunch line."

"Not a bad deal," said Tommy.

"I might turn myself in."

"What were you doing on my mother's phone anyway?" asked Jeffrey. "That was more than a little shocking. You're about the last person I expected to pick up."

Tommy relaxed beside Rosalind. It didn't seem like Jeffrey was going to thank them, and he preferred it that way. The air instantly became more comfortable to breathe.

"I didn't think she should answer it, so I did. She wasn't very happy with me."

Jeffrey looked ready to laugh, but he didn't quite. "That's not shocking. Probably smart though, she's uncontrollable."

"So I've heard. And she was distraught, so bad combo. I wanted to at least make sure he hadn't killed you first."

"Yeah," said Jeffrey, just barely loud enough to be heard. Then he did laugh. "The look on his face when you answered instead of her. He was so mad."

Skye grinned. "It was fantastic."

"Perfect," said Nick. "That's all I want to hear."

She hadn't realized she was speaking out loud until she got a response. She was talking to herself. Rosalind said, "I can't believe she talked to him. At all. On the phone or at the station."

"At the station?" Jeffrey repeated.

Skye stepped in to answer him for Rosalind. "You know when I threw the stapler at him?"

"Right, you did say he told her…what I said."

"Yeah. The FBI had her talk to him because they thought it would get him to give up your location, which he did, so good on them I guess. And her."

"Was she okay?" Jeffrey was more concerned than he was impressed.

"No," said Skye. "She was irate."

"She hit him. Raging motherly love and all that," said Jane.

"Did she really?" said Nick. "Jeffrey, your mother's a bad bitch."

A smile crept over Jeffrey's face. "Not the first time, either. She hit him a month ago, when she kicked him out."

"Like I said."

Rosalind felt truly happy. For once, it wasn't like her happiness was only a temporary mask concealing her many dark emotions. Those feelings were still there, but this happiness existed _in spite_ of all that, not instead of. She wondered how long it would last. Hopefully until at least tomorrow.

* * *

**A/N: okay ya'll why am I so insanely bad at typing? I was doing a little revising and I swear to god WHY CAN'T I TYPE THE CORRECT PRONOUNS?! The amount of times I say "she" or "hers" when it should be "he" or "his" I'm DEAD. And wtf why do I like forgetting words so much?**

**what's sad is I proofread every chapter twice before I post it AND THIS STILL HAPPENS**

**Probably cause I always type it out at ridiculous hours like 4 am like it is right now.**


	39. Chapter 39

The Geigers had considerably lightened Jeffrey's mood, probably because they had shed no tears. As fate would have it, however, his mood was not allowed to stay lightened for long. He shouldn't have been surprised. That had been the pattern thus far.

A professional looking blonde woman opened the door, knocking as she entered. Jeffrey had never understood why people did that. Why knock if you're just going to come in anyway? His mother drove him nuts that way.

The woman was law enforcement, 100%. She just had that look.

"Hello, Jeffrey," she said. She ignored everyone else in the room except for Skye, who she briefly smiled at (out of obligation more than as a genuine greeting). "I'm Agent Ginsburg. I was at the ranch last night, but I didn't get to officially meet you."

Yep, law enforcement. Goddamn. She hadn't unofficially met him either. He didn't recognize her at all, though there wasn't much he remembered about his rescue outside of Skye. He gave the agent a short wave. He wasn't very enthusiastic about her intrusion, even if he had been expecting it.

She finally acknowledged the rest of his guests. "If you wouldn't mind, I'd like a moment to speak with him privately."

"Go find that closet," Jeffrey said to Rosalind and Tommy with a wink.

"Oh stop," said Rosalind. She dragged Tommy out by his hand, her cheeks flaming red. She could be so easy to mess with.

Everyone else followed, except of course for Skye. She was included in "privately." Jeffrey told the agent that was more than fine. Agent Ginsburg sat in a chair next to Jeffrey's bed, crossing her legs.

"Is everything going okay for you?" she asked warmly.

"Yeah, I'm good," said Jeffrey. He tried to sound happy about it, but he was apprehensive about what the agent wanted. "Um, thanks. For finding me."

That was so awkward. He tried not to make a face. He'd felt like he had to say that. He was grateful, but voicing it made him uncomfortable and nervous. He would have rather left it unspoken.

Agent Ginsburg smiled. "Just doing my job."

It was weird that she got paid for that. She deserved to, but still – weird. She would move on by the next week, starting a new case. Jeffrey wished he could move on so quickly.

"I've gotten permission from both of your parents, so I'd like to get a statement from you," said the agent. "Written would be best, but if you would prefer it, I can record you describing it to me."

Already they were forcing him to relive it. He hadn't even been back for a day. Undoubtedly that meant his memories were fresh in his mind. They wanted details – details he wasn't ready to remember. He absolutely did not want to say them out loud.

"I'll write it down," he said. Then he glanced at his wrist cast. "If I can. I'm just going to call the nurse first."

"Of course. Whatever you need. We have plenty of time."

Jeffrey pressed the button that the nurse had earlier indicated. She returned in less than a minute. The second saline bag had emptied, and he badly needed a restroom. He couldn't get there by himself. He was massively embarrassed about that. He felt like a toddler. He hardly had an ounce of independence left. The nurse didn't make him walk. She fetched a wheelchair and pushed him down the hall. He made her wait outside. He was confident he could at least pee by himself. He did almost fall returning to the wheelchair, but he managed to avoid that.

When they returned, Skye and Agent Ginsburg were sitting in silence. Skye looked busy on Alec's phone, but Jeffrey knew she was faking it. She didn't know the passcode. She had lost her own phone for good, who knew what Dexter had done with it. Tossed it out the car window, probably.

The nurse repositioned the bed so that he could sit up comfortably to write. It would still be difficult. His body was bent in a shallow V, so he could continue to keep his leg elevated. Agent Ginsburg handed him a clipboard and a pen. He flipped open the stiff blue folder and stared at the white paper, embossed with the seal of the FBI. His body fell asleep as blood seemed to stop pumping through his arteries. The blank lines on the page felt like a threat.

"I'm going to give you time alone to complete this," said Agent Ginsburg. "There's no rush. Take however long you need."

Jeffrey rested the pen loosely in his right hand. He touched it to the paper, and it was as if an electric jolt had shot through his arm. He dropped it and lay his hand flat over the page.

"Start with what happened Friday night. Just tell your story. Anything you remember. I'll be right outside when you're done," said the agent.

Jeffrey nodded absently. He didn't pick up the pen; he rolled it beneath his palm. He didn't realize that Agent Ginsburg had gone. Not until Skye spoke."

"You don't have to do this if you don't want to," she said. "They can't force you."

The pen rolled into Jeffrey's lap. He drummed his fingers on the clipboard. His eyes were so unfocused that the lines on the page faded away. He squeezed his eyelids tightly shut, then pried them open, hoping to clear his vision. His eyes crossed and uncrossed. The lines started to reappear, though they were moving like waves. Some of that was his exhaustion kicking in. Most of it was shock.

"Did you?" he asked.

"Yes," Skye whispered. "I know how hard it is."

Jeffrey sucked in a long breath. He moved his hand, about to grab Skye's for comfort. Instead, he pulled back and picked up the pen. He looked at it in his hand. He could hardly hold it; it balanced uncertainly against his cast. He didn't know how to start. His mind was resisting him and drawing a complete blank. He'd spent the past several hours constructing a concrete barrier around every memory he had of those five long days. He had put so much effort into locking them away that his walls were hard to crack. Once they broke, he wasn't sure he would have the strength to rebuild them.

He was acutely aware of how cracked his lips were. He picked at the dead skin with his teeth, then attempted to wet them with the tip of his tongue. It was as dry and coarse as sandpaper. It seemed to be swelling in his mouth. He had to hang his jaw open to breathe, like he was sick with a stuffy nose.

"I don't want to tell them," he admitted. "This is my biggest secret, and they're strangers. I won't even tell my parents." He hadn't wanted to tell Skye either. The only reason he had was because he had seen the worst of what had happened to her. If she wanted to know the worst of what happened to him, who was he to say no? He'd surprised himself by telling her as much as he had. It was one thing to describe what Dexter had done, but to be honest about what he'd said? How he had so shamefully submitted to him? He could not believe he told her that. The worst part was, as gagged as he had been, he could have told Dexter to burn in hell and he wouldn't have known the difference. But he hadn't. He had groveled and cried and degraded himself exactly as Dexter wanted. He had long surpassed disgust with himself. He despised what he had allowed Dexter to turn him into. He'd thrown his self-worth to the wind telling Dexter he was nothing. It hadn't come back. Skye sensed that, but it didn't matter how much she validated him. He was weak and an embarrassment. He took no pride in himself. He never would again. Any future confidence he felt would be a mirage. He would always know with absolute certainty that if things got bad enough, he would bend the knee to cowardice. That was what Dexter had taught him: he was governed by fear. Which was not what Skye wanted in a guy at all. He hated to disappoint her.

"Then don't tell them," said Skye.

Jeffrey's heart pounded so violently in his chest that he pictured cracks splintering across his already broken ribs. His shallow breathing filled the silence. He'd forgotten what it was like not to be conscious of his every breath.

"Just don't read it," he finally said. He wasn't that much of a coward. He could write it down. He put the pen to the paper again. Skye already knew the truth, but the weight of her stare made his brain sluggish. It took him straight back to being punch-drunk. If he was about to physically feel his pain as he described it, he was in trouble. He refused to break in front of her again.

"I could leave you alone for a while. If that would help," said Skye with obvious hesitancy.

Jeffrey considered this, then shook his head. "Please don't."

Skye relaxed. She gently climbed from the bed to give him space. She sat in the chair closest to him. She still had Alec's phone in her hand. "What's the passcode?" she asked.

"1874."

Skye unlocked it and started playing solitaire. She glanced up at him sporadically with a supportive smile. She said nothing to give him a window of distraction-free silence.

Writing was difficult. It wasn't just that he was having trouble cultivating complete thoughts, physically he could hardly form the letters. The pen scratched the paper, but no ink transferred onto the page. Jeffrey propped his right arm on his left fist so he could hold his hand at a better angle. When he tried again, the pen worked. His handwriting was abysmal. Shaky letters blurred together in a scribble. Jeffrey stopped before he had even finished a sentence.

"You can't read that, can you?" He turned the paper toward Skye.

She squinted. "Some of it, maybe." She leaned closer. "Actually, not really."

Jeffrey exhaled and took the clipboard back. He pulled apart the Velcro straps on the brace around his left wrist. He slid it off and tested bending his wrist. He sank his teeth into his tongue so that his only response to the stabbing pain was a stifled grunt. He switched his pen to his nondominant hand. It was awkward to hold, but it was an improvement. He could close his hand around it. It took effort to teach his left hand to move correctly. He found it easier to write in capital letters. He took it one painfully slow line at a time. He had to focus so intently that it felt more like he was drawing – something he was hopelessly inept at. Each letter hurt his sprained wrist. He had to remember to breathe. He stopped to give his hand a break and looked over what he had written. _I was alone upstairs and Skye screamed. I found her in the kitchen with Dexter. I had called 911 but hung up when he told me to. He said he would kill her. He told me to kneel and forced Skye to handcuff me._ It looked like a child had written it, but the words were legible enough. Jeffrey glanced at the clock. That had taken him four minutes. Agent Ginsburg would be waiting for a long time.

His palms were sweating. The pen slipped and he gripped it tighter. He gasped, but for the moment, the pain kept him grounded. It didn't allow him to slip completely into the past. His back twitched and burned as he wrote about Dexter beating him. He could count each individual stitch. He focused on his wrist pain. He dreaded writing about hanging from them, then that pain would no longer tether him to the present.

It took Jeffrey over three and a half hours to complete his statement. When he finished, he felt numb. He struggled to remember where he was. _The hospital. I'm at a hospital._ He repeated that to himself half a dozen times. _He's gone. It's done. He's gone._ It didn't do much to help. His eyes were wide open, but he saw Dexter sneering right in front of him, corporeal and not at all like a fragment of his memory. Jeffrey threw his clipboard at him, but the image of Dexter didn't so much as waiver. It mocked him, seeming to say, "Even here, you're mine. Don't forget that."

Jeffrey responded to his hallucination. "I'm not," he breathed. The words coiled around his neck and crushed his trachea, exactly as Dexter's chain had. "That's not true. I'm not."

Skye jumped out of her chair. She leaned over the bed to look him directly in the eye. She rested her forehead against his and their noses brushed each other. She blocked the vision. The real Dexter was locked away and incapable of reaching him, and still she shielded him from him.

"Just look at me," she said. She ran her hand over his arm. It was like she knew what he was seeing.

Jeffrey tried kissing her, but even that did nothing for him. He still saw Dexter laughing at him, reminding him that he was nothing but his weak little toy. Jeffrey jerked back.

"I'm not. I'm not his slave," he said. He was lying to himself. He was a slave to his memory. It dominated him. He was still Dexter's prisoner, this time in his own mind. He was no freer from him now than when he had been in chains.

"No. You're not," Skye said fervently. "You never were."

Jeffrey pulled her into his chest, hoping that would make him feel safer. Instead it reminded him of every time Skye had thrown her body over him to protect him. He carefully pushed her off.

"I can't get away from him," he said. "He's here right now, in this room."

Skye nodded. "That's what makes you so brave."

Jeffrey didn't mean to, but he rolled his eyes. "I'm a coward."

"Stop that," she pleaded in a whisper. "It's okay to be afraid."

"Do you really believe that?" It was like he'd stared into the sun and the remnants of it wouldn't fade from his eyes. Except instead, he saw Dexter. He would stare into the sun until it blinded him if he thought it would rid him of that sight.

"Yes. I have to," Skye promised. "Because I am. Constantly."

"You didn't think that before." She used to laugh at fear.

"And then I grew up," said Skye. She took Jeffrey's hand. His skin tingled from her touch. That electricity didn't cause him any pain. "I see him too."

Jeffrey swallowed. Of course she did. "I'm sorry, Skye." He stopped himself from adding that he wished Dexter had left her behind.

"You're so annoying," she said. He didn't need to say it for her to know what he was thinking. "New rule: you can't apologize to me."

Jeffrey's mouth threatened to form a smile, but he was still too shaken for it to appear. "Ever?"

"No, if you fuck up I expect a full apology," said Skye. "But not about him. It wasn't your fault. I'm sick of telling you that."

"Okay." Jeffrey was even closer to smiling. "Sorry."

"Thank you," said Skye.

As much as she wanted him to, Jeffrey couldn't shake his feeling of responsibility. Dexter had wanted nothing from her until Jeffrey had dragged her with him. How could he let that go? He had trapped Skye, fearless as she was, in the same net of fright as him.

"I know you don't believe me."

The girl could read his mind. "I do," he lied.

"I appreciate your dishonesty," said Skye. "But one day you will. It's my mission."

"I love you for that."

"You love me for everything."

Jeffrey's smile finally broke free, even if it was a weak one. "Most things. The rest I tolerate."

"Shut up and let me kiss you."

He wanted her to say it again. It still shocked him; it made his heart stop. Jeffrey had given up hope that Skye would ever feel the same about him, and that was before he had thought that she was dead. Before they had been kidnapped at all. The change gave him whiplash, but he welcomed his confusion. It filled him with a fresh, giddy sort of contentment when he figured it all out again.

Disappointingly, she never did kiss him, because just then both of his parents joined them inside. They looked worried, like they had expected to find him curled up in a whimpering, fitful ball. Without Skye, it likely would have gone that way.

"Are you alright?" asked Mrs. Tifton. "Agent Ginsburg has been waiting a while and I thought…well, I don't know what I thought."

"That I was having a complete mental breakdown?" said Jeffrey.

Mrs. Tifton half-shrugged.

"Nah." Jeffrey smiled like he hadn't been on the verge of that very thing. He inclined his head toward Skye. "She was just distracting me."

That wasn't remotely true, but both of his parents visibly relaxed. Skye didn't call him out for lying.

"I dropped it over there." He pointed to the clipboard on the floor. The folder had disconnected from it and skid a few feet away.

That one Skye did call him out for. "You threw it, full swing. Like a baseball player."

"I might have done that," said Jeffrey. He made sure to keep his tone light, pretending that chucking away his statement had been a game and not a bout of panic. "But I'm done. You can give it to the agent if she's still waiting."

Alec bent to pick it up.

"Don't look at it." There was a heavy urgency behind his request as a new panic sprang up.

"I won't. I promise." Alec flipped the folder shut and stuck it back on the clipboard. He was gone for only a second to hand it off to Agent Ginsburg.

"She said to tell you thank you," said Alec. "Along with a couple other things I didn't listen to."

"I kind of hate her, is that just me?" said Skye.

"Why?" Jeffrey laughed.

"I don't know. She's so FBI."

"You watch crime shows literally all the time."

Skye shrugged. "Maybe that's why. She's disappointing."

"So she's not _Criminal Minds_ enough for you? That's not fair."

"Eh, I don't feel bad. Spencer Reid sets the bar pretty damn high," said Skye. She locked eyes with Jeffrey, suddenly serious. "That's a show I'll never watch again."

"Happens. I'm done with _Hamilton._ And _Game of Thrones,_ probably." Summarizing that show to distract her from her assault was more than enough to taint it for him. Plus, there was too much rape in it for him to be comfortable (or capable) of watching. He'd left those parts out of his synopsis.

"Did you know Jeffrey can rap?" Skye asked Alec and Mrs. Tifton. It was obvious that was not a question either of them had seen coming.

"No I can't," said Jeffrey. "Not even a little. I messed up so many times."

"Yeah, because I made you do it. You were under duress. And _distress._ I was impressed."

Jeffrey snorted. "You sound like Dr. Seuss."

"Shut up, I was. I mean it."

Jeffrey didn't know how she had managed to get in the right mindset to be impressed about that when Dexter was on top of her, but he supposed that had been the whole point of her asking him to do it. He was glad he'd distracted her at least a little. "Dexter wasn't."

"No he was. Absolutely why he didn't tell you to shut up. I think he just pretended to be mad to save face."

"Sure, okay." Jeffrey started to laugh. It was certainly one of the more ridiculous situations they had found themselves in. It was only a short laugh, however. Ridiculous, yes, but that didn't make what Dexter had done any less damaging. There was a reason that just thinking about _Hamilton_ made bile rise in Jeffrey's throat.

"I'm sorry, are you kidding?" Alec waved his hands. "You rapped in front of Dexter? _Hamilton?_ Lin Manuel Miranda?"

Now it was Skye laughing.

"Yeah, that's where this came from." Jeffrey slid his finger underneath the line of stitches by his eye. Skye's laughter stopped. He knew she still felt bad about that, though he wished she wouldn't. "I was trying to…um, show him he didn't scare me." What he had actually been trying to do would stay between him and Skye. If she ever wanted to tell that story, she could. It wasn't his to tell.

Alec's mouth hung open in disbelief.

Mrs. Tifton reached over and snapped it shut for him. "Dignified."

"That's your style, not mine."

That was unquestionably flirtatious. Jeffrey had put his parents holding hands out of his mind, partly because he didn't want to make something out of nothing, and partly because he had been busy thinking about other things. It was becoming clear to him now that it was not nothing.

"Okay I wasn't going to say anything, but what is going on with you two?"

Alec and Mrs. Tifton glanced nervously at each other. His mother turned pink.

"They've been bonding," said Skye. "Or so I've been told."

"Huh," said Jeffrey. "What's bonding? Are you going to like…date or something?"

A genuine look of fear crossed both of their faces.

Skye cackled. She nudged Jeffrey with her elbow. "Nice."

"Because if you are, I just think I should be a part of that conversation." Jeffrey was having fun making his parents uncomfortable. He'd never allowed himself to so much as dream of this before.

It was Alec who answered. He fumbled for the right words. "We haven't really talked about it. At all, actually. I mean, it's still up in the air. I think it is." He glanced at Mrs. Tifton, gaging her response. "We don't even know if we'll get along when you're not…well, missing and dying."

Mrs. Tifton had used her time to gather up courage. With a shocking amount of confidence she said, "Jeffrey, tell your father he doesn't need to be afraid to ask me out."

Alec was quick with a response, which was good, because Jeffrey was reeling. "Jeffrey, remind your mother that it was she who divorced me. If she wants to go out, this time she has to ask me."

"This time? I think you mean both times," said Mrs. Tifton. Jeffrey had yet to recover.

"Hold on, I made the first move," Alec protested.

"You _wish_ you made the first move."

"What are you talking about? I kissed you!"

Mrs. Tifton rolled her eyes. "And I could have spelled "kiss me" in the sky with fireworks and it would not have been more obvious I was asking you to."

"Still. I kissed _you."_

"Fine," said Mrs. Tifton indignantly. "I'll ask. We'll get brunch. I love brunch."

"I hate it," said Alec, just to be difficult.

"No one hates brunch."

Jeffrey shook his head in wonder. His parents were still bickering. Skye had an amused look plastered on her face.

"This isn't happening, right?" he said. "No way it's real."

Skye grinned and kissed him. "It's as real as that."

"That doesn't feel real either."

Skye raised an eyebrow. "Let me try again." Her second kiss was deeper. She held his face in both of her hands and parted his lips with her tongue. After only a few seconds, he pulled back. He could feel his self-control slipping, and he wasn't particularly willing to lose it directly in front of his parents.

"Better?" asked Skye.

"Getting realer." He pointed an accusing finger at each of his parents. "You're both idiots."

"Jeffrey!" Mrs. Tifton was offended.

"You talked out your issues and now you're good? That's it?"

"We only really talked about one," said Alec. "You."

"I'm the big one!" said Jeffrey. "Unbelievable. I could have had married parents this whole time."

"Hey, I tried. She wouldn't see me," said Alec.

"Excuse me!" said Mrs. Tifton. "You left the second Papa gave you enough money."

_"What?"_ Alec laughed in the middle of the word. "Son of a—no, sorry. He's dead. I'll be nice." A second later, another comment burst out. "Is that really what he told you? He did try to pay me off, but I was so insulted that I said – this is a quote: "fuck off, old man. Stick your checkbook up your ass." _That_ is when I left."

Mrs. Tifton's mouth was forming words, but no sound came out. Everyone stared at her until she remembered how to speak. "You—you cursed at my father?"

"Oh yes," Alec laughed, then looked at Jeffrey. "Your grandfather hated me."

"Well, after that, of course he did," said Mrs. Tifton.

"In case you're wondering, he thought you were worth ten grand."

"I wasn't wonder—ten grand? Really? That's it?"

Alec scoffed. "That's it, she says."

Mrs. Tifton was put out. "You can't buy a decent car for that much. I am _at least_ worth a Benz."

"Not the issue here," said Alec, laughing harder. "He could have offered me half a million dollars and I would have said the same thing. I was so pissed off I just—"

"Lost your temper?" said Skye. She looked sideways at Mrs. Tifton. "Been there."

Mrs. Tifton held her head high. "Yes, it has been established that I ate my words. Can we stop bringing it up?"

"We're never going to stop, sorry," said Jeffrey.

Mrs. Tifton covered her red cheeks with her hands. "I became my father, didn't I?" As she thought about it harder, she moved her hands over her mouth in horror. "Oh god. Oh _no._ I did."

Jeffrey smiled broadly. "Not exactly. What did you say you would give Dexter again?"

"Thirty-five million dollars," answered Skye. "I didn't know you're that rich, Jeffrey."

"Me neither."

"That's only if I liquidate everything," said Mrs. Tifton, though it made no difference.

"Thirty-five million is a little more than ten grand," said Jeffrey. "You're completely different from Grandpa."

Mrs. Tifton smiled, then said, "I do like to think that in a ransom situation he would have offered more. Maybe not all his money, but some sort of higher number."

Jeffrey thought about hearing his mother beg Dexter to take everything she had if he would just give him back to her. Emotion rose in his throat. He didn't speak until he had shoved it back down. "You really would have given him everything?"

Mrs. Tifton suddenly looked like she might cry. "Does that really surprise you? You're my son."

"No," Jeffrey said after taking a moment to think about it. "I guess it's just nice to hear right now."

"You're expensive," said Skye. Then she stuck her lips to Jeffrey's ear and whispered, "See? Not worthless."

A shiver shot down his spine. Her breath tickled his earlobe. In his heart, he knew that Skye was right. It wasn't that he felt like a complete waste of space, he didn't doubt that there were people who cared for him. Jeffrey was having trouble caring for himself. He was too angry and ashamed about what he had done to value himself the way that he once had. He couldn't shake the one person who saw him as less than a human being, as nothing. Dexter had abused him enough for his opinion to plant roots in Jeffrey's brain. It carried so much more weight than that of those who loved him.


End file.
